Distorted
by smalld1171
Summary: Dean gets in trouble. You know, my usual fare. Involves abduction, drugs, and a personality overhaul. Very short chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Distorted**

**Hello there, couldn't help myself, just another ramble that got stuck in my head. More chapters to come but they are going to be very short. Thanks for having a look, let me know what you think if you have an inkling to do so... And, of course and per usual, I own nothing! :D**

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><p>He feels the sting of it; of the needle as it pierces his skin; of the heat as it rushes through his veins and the contents are plunged into him. He growls through the dirty cloth shoved in his mouth and desperately shakes his head to loosen the ever increasing numbness that starts to invade it.<p>

Whatever the hell this shit is, it sure works fast. He thinks he can hear high heels click-clack on what he assumes is a concrete floor; thinks he can hear a stereotypical evil laugh bounce its way off the walls and echo in his head. He pries his leaden lids open but the hell if he can make out the shadowy figure that seems to float across his vision.

He tries to fight the euphoria he starts to feel, tries to stay strong and defiant but he can't quite remember why he would want to, not when a surge of calm and peace soaks into him like rainwater over a parched desert. He laughs out loud as he realizes how proud Sam would be of his sudden, inner chick flick moment.

Sam. He thinks maybe his brother should get a dose of this too. Whatever this is. Maybe it would get the stick out of his ass long enough to help him relax for a damn minute. Sam. Sammy. He tries to hold on to the image that flutters around him; the image of his freakishly tall but gentle brother; the image of his Sammy. All too soon it seems that same image contorts and fizzles out, leaving his drugged up brain to head right on down to the corner of exhilaration and contentment.

Awesome.

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><p><strong>TBC.. Thanks for stopping by!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi and thank you soooo much! I really wasn't expecting such a great response so I am totally thrilled! I will get back to each of your reviews, I promise! I hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks again!**

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><p>Awesome. Yeah, that's how he feels. Actually, he's pretty damn sure he has never felt quite this good before. Like, ever. He feels serene and calm and… huh… happy? He thought that particular emotion had been forcibly and forever removed from his repetoire after decades of dodging shit pile after shit pile.<p>

He has no idea where he is but, as he strains to move his hand to scratch the tickle on his nose, the restraints that hold him to the chair and the feel of the gag still stuffed down his throat wiggle through his haze the unwelcome message that something about this is not right.

As if on cue, the cloth begins its retreat and is slowly extracted from his saliva free mouth. He licks his parched lips, tries to swallow, and attempts to hone in on what circumstances led to him being fricken hog tied in the dark. But to be honest, he doesn't really give one little shit. Whatever. Hell, it can't be that bad if it feels so damn good. Again the voice is in his head; it screams out a warning to him complete with alarm bells and blaring horns as it resonates from somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Wrong. This is wrong.

He tries once again to open his eyes; to try and get a handle on where the hell he is, but before he has the chance he feels breath on the side of his face and a feminine voice whisper in his ear.

"Don't worry, you're fine Dean. Don't you remember? You begged me to know how it felt, to have all the evil and taint that has infected your very soul washed away. And now you do. Just imagine, never ending euphoria. Let me give you this gift and you can feel this way for the rest of existence."

Euphoria for the rest of existence? Hell, that doesn't sound so bad. Purged from the poison and ugliness that has ruled his life up until this exact moment in time? As the promise of that claws into him and hangs on to his very core, he reaches out to that damn voice in his head, crushes it, and smiles as it fades into silence.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for coming back and thank you soooooo much for all of your awesome reviews! YAY! I love getting those alerts! I hope you will enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>Okay. He is pretty damn shaky and freakin cold and can feel his body drenched in sweat. He doesn't remember tying one on but that is sure as shit how he feels. He wracks his brain to figure it out. Sam and him were... uh... they were... yeah, tracking an evil son of a bitch of course. They... they followed her to... dammit, why can't he remember? Ah hell, good old Sammy can fill him in. Shit, if he didn't know better he'd say he was coming down from the bingiest binge of all time but he can't remember drinking a damn drop. This blows.<p>

"S..Sam?"

What the frick, his throat is dry as a bone and the sandpaper that seems to reside there brings a damn tear to his eyes. But as he peels back an eyelid he instantly hopes to hell that his brother doesn't answer; that he can't answer because he's as far from here as fricken possible. He tries to force himself to concentrate, to get a damn clue about where the hell he is. As the shakiness and chill ebbs off ever so slightly by force of will alone, he becomes more aware and in control, using his senses to zero in on his surroundings.

Touch. It tells him he is laying on a cot. A very uncomfortable and itchy as hell cot. He tries to move and lets out a frustrated growl as he discovers he is strapped down to it; his hands and feet tied to the stupid frame. He feels his breath start to increase and a flutter of panic starts to invade his thoughts but he shakes his head and tries to focus on one thing. Sam. Gotta make sure baby brother is not in this shit hole right along side him.

Sight. It tells him he is almost completely in the dark, with only a small sliver of light to help pierce through the veil of blackness.

Hearing. It tells him absolutely nothing. He hears absolutely nothing besides his own rapid heartbeat and the ever increasing intake of air into his lungs.

Taste. His tongue darts out and he almost gags at the copper tinge that makes his taste buds react. Blood.

Smell. He breathes in and is bombarded with the worst odour of all. It's overpowering and undeniable. Death.

As his eyes become more accustomed to the lack of light, he peers down at his body and fights to keep the bile where it belongs. Well ain't this peachy. Okay, so it ain't exactly sweat that clings to him. He doesn't need booming flourescent lights to know that he is sporting an amount of blood that can't be from a nick while shaving. But hell, he doesn't feel the pain or lightheadedness that he has become all too familiar with in past experiences with blood loss. Which can only mean one thing. The red ooze that seems to coat him from head to boots is not his. He closes his eyes and tries to remember; tries to rationalize where it could have come from but comes up with not one damn image. He growls again at his inability to think.

Well shit. Okay. This much is obvious. He ain't at the motel. And from what he can actually see he ain't with his brother. So, that would mean he's with...

Click-clack go the high heels on the concrete floor. He is sure he has heard that before. The sound is coming up behind him and he pulls at the binds that keep him stubbornly in place. The noise stops and he's pretty sure he stops breathing altogether in that moment. The voice is there again, right by his ear.

"How you feeling Dean? You gave me quite a scare, I thought you weren't going to wake up. You did really good though, you should be very proud."

... with the evil son of a bitch herself.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed! :D<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone and thanks for coming back! This is much longer than I had planned but I couldn't find a good mid-way point to stop so consider this a double chapter ;)**

**Thanks to each and every one of you who has taken the time to read, review, alert and favourite this story, I can not express enough how much I appreciate it! I hope you enjoy! :D**

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><p>He can't stop the reflex of his swallow as he tries to gulp down the newly formed lump in his throat. His muddled up brain may have decided to take an impromptu and ill advised vacation, but he has learned to trust his instincts and they are screaming out to him that he is in a shitload of trouble.<p>

She laughs quietly in his ear and he feels the tickle of her breath on his neck. The sensation suddenly fades as she pulls away and he can't do anything but follow her movements as she leaves her hidden position to stand right in the centre of that solitary stream of light; the light that seems to come from nowhere.

Nowhere. That fact compels him to search frantically to pinpoint its origin. It is nothing more than an exercise in futility and frustration as he realizes there are no windows, no doors, no god damn anything that should produce light. The place blankets him in darkness and an unrelenting chill seems to freeze him solid as panic threatens to overtake him. The absolute eeriness of his surroundings swells inside him and seems to be compounded tenfold by that one single, little speck of brightness.

He shakes his head to get out of his 'The Search for Light' mission to focus once more on the bitch who is responsible. Shit. He must be seriously fricked up cuz she looks like a damn angel as she stands there; as the glow from that damn mystery spotlight illuminates her. Her hair is golden, her skin is fair and smooth and she is cloaked in a long, white dress.

Hell, why can't evildoing, murderous hags ever dress the part? This witch should be as ugly as they come, broomstick in hand and packaged up nice and freaky in a tattered black dress to compliment the empty, cavernous hole where a heart should be. Huh. Well, he supposes it would be a tad more difficult to massacre the innocents if they catch one glimpse of your ugly mug and go running and screaming into the hills.

"Like what you see?"

He flinches as her voice pierces right through him. Damn it, busted for staring at a damn skank. Perfect. She actually looks herself up and down and stretches her hands out from her sides like she knows exactly what he was thinking. All she needs is a fricken halo above her blonde locks and the facade would be complete. She smirks at him, tilts her head to one side and raises a manicured eyebrow.

"Well?"

His head still pounds like a freight train but he ain't gonna give this lying slut the satisfaction. He sends her his infamous death glare, complete with sharpened to the hilt daggers, and hopes to hell that just this once it will actually work and she will self combust into a pile of ash on the spot. But no, all it seems to accomplish is heighten the excitement she seems to be embroiled in by his discomfort. He is seriously up the proverbial shit creek, so he pulls out the only other weapon he has left in his stripped down arsenal. His mouth.

"You know I would, if I was actually into skanky hell whores that hack people up purely for the entertainment value alone, but that is so 80's. Well, would you look at the time? This has been fun and all but how about you untie me and let me show you up close and personal how I feel about you sweetheart.'

The smile broadens at that and he clenches his hands into fists to contain the shiver that rattles through him. No way is he gonna show her how much he is currently freaked the hell out. He may not remember anything but there is no mistaking what the queasiness that flutters around in his gut like a caged butterfly tells him. He is about to find out, and he ain't gonna like it one fricken bit.

"My poor, confused Dean, what a pity you don't remember. But don't worry, I can help."

"Nah, thanks but I think I'll pass."

She saunters over, closer and closer to his immobile form, and he strains his neck in a fruitless attempt to get as far away from her as possible. His mind races in tandem with his heart and he is overwhelmed by a terrifying and foreboding sense that the last thing he wants to do is remember.

"Dean?"

He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments. He forces himself to calm his rapid breaths and ground himself before he lifts his lids, fires up his laser eyeballs to their maximum setting and turns back to let 'em rip.

"I'm going to kill you."

Her face drops slightly as she takes in his gravelly threat but that look is quickly replace by a sugary sweet smile. She leans over and quietly voices a string of words that effectively deflate his defiance and glare in an instant.

"It wasn't me who did the slicing and dicing."

He does not like where this is going.

"It. Was. You."

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	5. Chapter 5

**Hi there and welcome back. Thanks for you lovely reviews. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :D**

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><p>Nononono, that's impossible. He would never... he couldn't... she's lying...<p>

"Fairy tale bullshit bitch. I don't know what kind of fricked up game you're playing but I guarantee you that I won't feel a damn thing when I slice your damn head off and..."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk..." She sighs deeply and looks almost sad at his apparent willingness to accept the load of horseshit she is trying to feed him.

"Oh my, denial is such a typical human trait but really Dean, it doesn't become you. I mean, you _are _a killer right?"

The next round of snarky retorts get stuck in his throat as her face first flutters into another eerie smile before it changes to something much darker. She looks pissed and he can't say it makes him warm and toasty inside. Normally he would smile and commend himself at his ability to make these evil bitches scowl, but here and now he thinks it's the worst possible thing.

"Don't be shy, I know what you are. A cold blooded killer. Shoot or slice first, no questions asked, just smart ass taunts before you flick the bic or pull the trigger. A killer. That's the only thing you've ever been good at right? What you were born to do and be? So, let me assure your confused mind Dean, you most definitely _did_."

Her smile flashes wide and bright and if he didn't know better he'd say this gongshow is as good as sex to her. Peachy.

"Ahhhh, it was soooooo...rewarding and stimulating for me. Watching you work was like poetry in motion. I've never seen any of my other apprentices take so naturally to it."

Apprentices? What the frick is this nutcase talking about?

"Yeah right. I don't know what the hell you've been smokin in your pipe goldilocks but you got the wrong guy."

She starts to walk slowly, her white dress flowing with her curves and he finds that it takes his breath away. There is something innately wrong with this whole fricked up scene.

"Don't worry Dean, they weren't worth saving. Let me show you."

"Uh, no thanks, I got a better idea. Let's agree that you killed some folks, that you see the error of your ways and now you want to make it right. Untie me, I'll put you out of your misery and we can call it a night. This trip down your rabbit hole of delusions is giving me a damn headache."

Shit. Definitely not going for it.

She reaches out a hand to him and as her fingers touch his scalp they seem to sear their mark right into his skin. He inwardly scolds himself as he cries out in pain. Shit. He almost expects the addition of burning flesh to mingle with the other unnatural smells that seem to cloak the room and envelop him to the point of spewing his guts. The damn digits of her hand seem to cut right through his skull like the proverbial knife through butter.

He may not know much about what the hell he has gotten himself into this time, but one fact is crystal clear.

He is definitely screwed.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Here I am again! Thanks so much for all your lovely comments on this story! I hope as always that this chapter will be to your liking! :D**

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><p>"just... do it... get it over with you damn...skanky...whore..."<p>

A distant echo of laughter reaches his ears as the pain seems to increase before it abruptly stops. Hell, he should do some kind of fricken cheer at that but he has the distinct feeling it ain't over yet; that this was just the warm up act.

"Shhh, you're okay. Sorry, that part is always a little painful. Matter of fact, some of my other recruits couldn't handle it and died right here on the spot. But I knew you were different Dean. Just relax and enjoy the show. Relish in the fruits of your labour."

He doesn't have time for that ominous statement to truly sink in before the images begin their assault. Images of blood; of gore and mutilated bodies force their way in wave after unrelenting wave into his brain. They come so fast and quick that he can't focus on any one long enough to pinpoint who these poor saps are, or who is on the other end of the knife that reduces them to lumps of flesh left to litter and saturate the ground.

He feels like he is having some sort of damn seizure as his body shakes and shudders against the unwelcome attack. He's sure he is on the verge of a massive heart attack, as if that hand of hers has reached right into his chest and is squeezing the life out of it; as it aches from the knowledge that he is unable to do one damn thing to stop the horror show that surrounds him.

The images begin to slow and he can see her then. She stands in the middle of the carnage, in that same white dress, the bottom of it now soaked in blood. That same creepy smile lights up her face and he swallows at the look of exhilaration, of contentment and shit, of _pride_ he sees in her features.

He groans and continues his futile attempt to come loose from his binds when the image seems to transform and move again. His view closes in on her face until the next time he looks down he sees a flowing, blood spattered white gown at his feet. Shit. This is bad. His heart clenches once again at the realization that he is now looking at the scene through her eyes; as if he is standing in her damn high heeled shoes.

The image pans upwards and he lets out a whispered 'No' at the vision, as it steals the breath from his lungs. Nothing could have prepared him for what he now looks upon; for what answers the question of why she is wearing that stupid grin.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Here I am again! Thanks so much for all your lovely comments on this story! I hope as always that this chapter will be to your liking! :D**

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><p>He sees himself. But this ain't him, this is some twisted, alternate version. <em>This<em> Dean Winchester is covered in a film of crimson. _This_ skewed version is breathing heavy and focused on his hands. His hands. His eyes drift to what has caught his double's attention and he sucks in a breath at the sight. One holds a machete, the blade of which has turned from silver to red. In the other, intertwined in his bloodied fingers, is the hair of a squirming, pleading, crying and out of control woman.

He can't do anything else but watch in horror as the weapon is raised and in one swift motion barrels downward to plunge into the heart of that defenseless girl. The squirming and pleading and crying stops, the fingers are unfurled and the body falls to the ground with a thud, discarded as if she was a piece of trash left out on the curb.

No. This can not be him. Not this. He would never do this. This fricked up duplicate stares down at the mayhem he just caused and looks disgusted. Not at what he did. Not because of the life he just took. But by the person he just murdered in cold blood.

The Dean he stares at through the bitch's eyes lifts his gaze upwards and he stops breathing in that moment. His world and sanity come crashing down on top of him as he is buried in a mountain of shock and disbelief. He can't stop the tears as they come. No. This fricked up duplicate looks right at him with eyes that turn his veins to ice.

The eyes. _His_ eyes. Cold, dark and devoid of all emotion.

The eyes. They pierce straight into his heart and threaten to rip it right out of his chest.

The eyes. _His_ eyes, are those of a ruthless killer.

It starts out low and almost unnoticeable but the noise quickly rises in volume and degree, the crescendo builds and builds until an agonizing scream pierces through the darkness, as his mind does battle with this perverted vision of himself.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Hi and thanks for coming back. Thanks to all who have read and sent such wonderful reviews, I appreciate it very much! I hope you will enjoy.**

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><p>That wasn't him. The ugly hag who has him on lockdown is the one responsible for all the shit swirling around and making him question his own thoughts and eyes. Cuz yeah, he may be a hunter and an efficient killer, but he would… he would never slaughter people like the vision in his head. Never. Not people. Not humans.<p>

And that is what tells him that this is just personal payback or some shit; or some kind of vendetta against hunters as a whole, complete with a no holds barred approach, hell bent and focused in with one specific purpose and goal. To make him break.

Well sister, this particular dude ain't like all the others. He has been to Hell and back and you may think you are as evil and nasty as they come but it's gonna take a hell of a lot more than some fancy special effects to be the one that finally makes him crack.

"That…it's…. not real. I dunno what the frick you did to me you…. BITCH… but that ain't me. Sorry you went to all this trouble but you ain't as smart or powerful as you… think you are… wasted all this time and effort… for nothing…."

He struggles to keep the venom in his voice as he continues to see is his own face reflected back at him, well the bloodied and sinister version, as the horror movie in his mind seems to have freeze framed on the cold and heartless face of his double. Peachy.

"I ain't buying this shit for one damn second, you…."

The pressure in his brain and on his head fades as the heat of her hand leaves him and he is freed of her taint. He can't help but relax his tensed up muscles a fraction as the image comes to a screeching halt. His chest heaves as his lungs try hungrily to catch up with the breaths his body was deprived of; desperate to fill themselves with air after that necessary act seemed to stop altogether; his body's reaction to being an unwilling participant in the sideshow performance she just forced upon him.

His breathing is ragged and loud in his ears, it reverberates through the once again eerily quiet surroundings he is still confined within. He may not know much about what the hell this stupid bitch has done to him but there is one fact he is certain of. This skank is going down. She is now at the very top of his 'need to kill immediately' list.

"Oh Dean. My poor, misguided Dean. I can tell what is rolling through that muddled up brain of yours. Desperately trying to remember what happened, how you came to find yourself in my tender care."

The sweetness and affection he hears in her words makes him feel a tinge of something, he can't put his finger on it but he feels warmth in his veins and a strange comfort in her voice. He needs to get out of here before she works some more of her damn mojo on him.

"You're probably trying to figure out where your little brother is."

Sam. Shit. What? How the hell did he forget about Sam? His eyes go wide in shock at the realization and her blood red lips curl up into yet another sinister smile. Damn it, way to fold your cards and play right into her hand you idiot.

"Hmmm. Or, maybe not."

She leans close to him once again for yet another breathy whisper in his ear.

"That's good Dean, very good. It's an encouraging and excellent sign you know. Means the change has started in full force and by the looks of it, more rapidly that I could have possibly imagined."

He flinches as a perfectly manicured nail scrapes lightly on his cheek. Great. Well that doesn't sound too creepy or anything.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by! :)<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi, I'm back! Couldn't help but post another chapter, this one just sprang to life and in twenty minutes was done. Thank you for reading, reviewing, alerting and adding this as a favourite, I truly appreciate it and hope you enjoy!**

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><p>He turns his head to the side to get her damn claw off of his flesh; to get the hell away from the softness of her hair on his skin and the scent of her essence from driving him mad. Okay, maybe he can't think so good but he still knows she's evil and the bitch ain't allowed to touch him like he's a piece of meat on display.<p>

"The only thing that's gonna change around here honey… is that fricken, smug look on your face."

He shivers at the small exhale of air in his ear and flinches as a firm palm touches his face. The whisper is back and damn if he feels a tingle of want start at the point of contact and flush all the way through him. Man, this is so fricked up.

"Time to rest now, you need to gather your strength. I'll be back soon."

He turns to watch her receding form. She walks away slow and graceful as the sound of her heels on the floor seem to match the sway in her hips. He gazes at her and feels a spark of panic in his chest as she passes through that damn, impossible light and into the darkness beyond.

His head begins to pound which each step she takes, as she edges further and further away from him.

He ain't sure what kind of spell she's weaved over his ass but no way does she get the last word. She made him forget Sam for Christ sake, and that's about as major as a faux pas can get.

"You won't get to me. You hear me bitch! It's gonna take a lot more than a few mind games and parlour tricks to break me!"

Her laughter echoes through the empty room and he hates the fact that he is drawn to the sound of it. What the hell? He hears what he thinks is a door as it closes and that small sound fills him with a sudden, unexplainable emptiness.

His limbs start to shake and he can't be entirely sure but he thinks even the hair on his head is starting to hurt. Shit.

Concentrate, that's all he's gotta do right? He can figure this out. She is controlling him somehow and he just has to think of a way to get the hell out of this freakshow. Christ, he doesn't even know how long he's been tied up in this shithole.

Now that her and her poisonous cloud of crazy bitch filth has left the room, maybe he can think straight long enough to come up with some kind of plan.

And… Sam. Where the hell is Sam? And how could he have forgotten…

Damn, just stop it. He would never, could never forget his Sammy, not willingly at least. The strangeness of that thought rolls through him and he flashes through every single memory he has; every single one, and hangs onto them for dear life.

He is still clinging to the image of his brother with that damn plastic spoon stuck in his mouth when the bass drum in his head cranks up the decibels and slowly erodes his ability to think, or concentrate on anything but the pulsating beat in his brain.

He feels a wave of exhaustion and fatigue slam into him like a tidal wave and his eyes start to droop.

Damn it. No, not now, he… he needs to think… how… please Sam… someone…. help…

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	10. Chapter 10

**Hello and welcome back. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter and I can't thank you enough for all the wonderful reviews I have received in response to this. If I have not yet responded to all of you I promise that I will soon! Take care and thanks again! :)**

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><p>He flinches at the tug on his arm. He blinks himself slowly into wakefulness and tries to hold on firmly to the vision that dances around in his sleepy head. Sammy. He reaches out to the picture, tries to hold it, hang on to it. Sam, please come back.<p>

The foggy image of his brother leaves his mind as he feels another pull and then tightness snake around his arm. He shakes his head to dispel the last remnants of sleepiness he feels to figure out just what in the hell is happening to him now.

Christ. She's got a damn tourniquet wrapped around him and his blood goes cold as he sees a syringe nestled nice and snug around the bitch's mouth. Perfect. More freakin' drugs. That is definitely not a good thing. C'mon, just distract her man, you need to distract her. Think about Sam. Don't stop thinking about him. Find out what happened to Sam.

"Listen Frankenstein-ette, before you think of getting your freak on again, I think you better give me some of the basics. You know, before I really do start to get pissed off. Usually I'm all up for the bondage and kinky stuff, but you stick me with that thing and that's it, our date is officially over."

She giggles through the object still firmly wrapped between her lips. She lets go of the tourniquet and turns to face him with a question mark pasted on her features. Okay then, alright, got her attention at least. He has a hard time concentrating on anything but that damn vial clenched in her teeth but there is one constant thought floating through his mind. One thing he needs to know.

"Okay. So, first things first. Where the hell is Sam? What did you do to him?"

She plucks the needle out of her mouth and leans over to look him straight in the eyes this time. Her own eyes twinkle and as she flicks out her tongue to moisten her lips it reminds him of someone who is about to divulge a secret that they have just been itching to tell.

"Ooooo, I'm so glad you asked me that Dean." Closer and closer she leans into him until her chest is flush with his now heaving one.

"What would you say if I told you that Sam has been here the whole time?"

No. That's not right. His eyes dart around the room again, the same dark and dingy accommodations he has seen every fricken time he has opened his eyes. Sam isn't here. No way. He would sense him. He would hear him. He would _know_.

"I'd say your level of bullshit is off the charts sweetheart. If he was here I would know it." Please, don't let this wench be right, not about this. "I _always_ know."

"Sorry Dean, not this time. Not anymore."

She stands and saunters slowly over to a corner of the room. It takes him a split second to realize he can actually see. Huh. It may be slight and still dull and faded but there is a shimmer of light that seems to filter itself onto that exact spot.

His jaw clenches as he focuses in on the object she now stands beside. How the hell could he have missed _that_? It looks like a damn vault, tucked away in the recesses of the room but… it couldn't have been there this whole time. He would have seen it. But, it was dark right? Yeah, that must be it, that has to be it.

The sight of this thing makes him queasy. It just screams out madness and torture and the lump in his throat forms in an instant as he sees what looks to be a sliding door at the top. As if he said that last part aloud, her nimble fingers slide the metal across and he hears her whisper words he can't quite make out. She is talking to whatever is inside. Damn it. Please. No.

Panic surges through him and he holds his breath as her pale hand reaches for the handle. The squeak of the hinges rattles through his frame and he fights the urge to shut his eyes and hide from whatever the hell he is about to see confined in that damn metal box.

He finds he is frozen, not only by the binds that keep him in place, but by the absolute terror that rises up and consumes him as she steps aside to reveal the prize hidden within.

Sam.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Hi and welcome back. Thanks for all the awesome reviews, I can't thank you enough. As always, I hope you will enjoy.**

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><p>"Sammy?"<p>

"Oh, do you two know each other? It is a small world isn't it?"

"Let him go bitch."

"Kind of sensitive with this one aren't you Dean? Oh, right, I forgot. You were brothers once upon a time. The great Sam and Dean Winchester, always together, fighting the good fight. Thank God I came along to change all of that."

His eyes hone in on her stupid, cackling face and he sends his best hatred out through his stare. Christ, that must get her off or something because her smile widens to an almost inhuman one. Well duh, she obviously ain't human.

His gaze leaves her to focus in on his brother. Nonononono… this cannot be happening. This cannot be real. Sam, he can't be here. He shakes his head to try and clear it, to erase his brother's presence there from existence. This cow is just messing with his head again. Another trick. She has to be. He lifts up as much as he can from his position and lets out a grunt of frustration when nothing has changed.

"SAM! You okay? SAM?"

Another giggle floats through the air as she turns to peer into that damn box.

"Hey Sam. Nice to see you again. Your brother is such a delight. I haven't had this much fun in oh, a century or two. Tell me, how does it feel? To see the brother you know slowly slip away and start to turn into something far better than what he was? No more guilt, no more pain. You should be happy for him."

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

"Soon he won't even know you exist. You will just be one more vile creature whose poison needs to be extinguished. You should thank me."

"SHUT UP YOU LYING SKANK!"

His chest heaves as he arches his back and uses all the force he can muster to try and break free to get over there and punch her fricken lights out. She is so full of shit he halfway expects her hair, eyes and damn dress to shift to a nasty, dark brown hue.

"He kind of sounds weak and pathetic doesn't he Sam? I think he's ready for round two."

What? Shit, this is so fricked up.

Sam struggles against the chains. Jesus, she has him locked up inside that metal container like some kind of sideshow display. He is gagged and loops of chain worm around his wrists and ankles, hooked to iron rings welded right into the damn thing. But, to Sammy's credit he still grunts and pulls and does all he can to let him know that he is there, that he can hear him.

Don't give up man, I'll get you out of this.

"You filthy bitch! Let him go! You got me... do whatever you want to me but don't you lay a finger on him!"

It's the eyes he sees peer out of the blackness in that box; the ones that stare into him that makes this almost too much. He feels confused and pissed off and it makes his damn head ache. Shit, those are Sam's eyes alright. Concern, anger and fear surge out from them to float across the room and slam into his own. That piece of crap hussy is responsible for the look he's sees there, and she is going to pay.

"Oh, such vileness to come out of such a beautiful mouth. But don't worry, that attitude of yours will change... well, actually, it's changing already. You see Dean, Sammy over here has already watched this show once before."

"You are so full of crap sister."

She smirks slightly and leans in to remove the leather band wrapped around his brother's mouth.

"Your brother doesn't believe me Sam, let's see if you can convince him."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by...<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Welcome back! Thanks as always for your continued support and for giving this story a chance. An extra thanks to those of you who have let me know with reviews how you feel about this journey. I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.**

**It may be a few days until I can update again so I hope this tides you over until then ;)**

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><p>"Dean! Fight it!... don't let it control you…please…don't give in… I'll find a way… to save you…it's… it's gonna be okay, I promise… I'm sorry I couldn't... just fight as hard as you can damn it… fight… she's…."<p>

Sam's quivering voice cuts out as she replaces the strap across his mouth.

He silently scolds his brother for being just a tad on the mysterious side about this bitch. Thanks for nothing bro. Don't know what she is, don't know how to kill her. And you're tied up in a freakin steel safe. Awesome.

As his frustration ebbs and the words of his brother sink and settle into him, he feels like he is floating in an unknown and turbulent sea. Sam _knows_ he'll fight. He _always_ fights. He _never_ gives in, _never_ gives up. So why the hell would Sam suddenly decide he needs to give him a fricken pep talk about it? Shit, whatever the reason, it makes him feel queasy and unsure about everything that he thought he knew about his current predicament, which was already pretty close to frick all.

He shivers at the implications of what his brother begged him _not_ to do. _Not_ to lose control. The threat of being taken over, of being strung up and used like some evil marionette grosses him out and makes him teeter once again on the edge of panic. It's gotta be bad news when your brother says that he will save you and you have no idea what you need to be saved _from_. Peachy.

His brother's eyes sear into his and the tears that seem to glisten in them almost make him tip past the breaking point. He can tell Sam is freaked out of his gourd and that there is a whole shitload that his brother knows that he doesn't. And that ugly bitch is just revelling in it.

Huh. Well that is the number one, biggest mistake that hag could ever make. Mess with him and yeah, okay, that's kind of the standard in his twisted, screwed up life, nothing new there. But, mess with his brother and you have just sealed the deal on unleashing the biggest can of whoop ass out there. Him.

Only trouble is, he ain't exactly in the position right now to kick anyone's ass. And that fact makes his blood boil.

"What the hell do you want!"

She glances back to Sam and blows him a kiss before she starts to slide effortlessly back to him; back to her damn captive. It's freakin' humiliating.

"Hmm, you still don't quite understand do you Dean? What's the matter? All the holes floating around in that head of yours making it hard to think? Tell you what, I'll break it down for you, it's really very simple. Break one..." one of those fingers points directly at him and he gulps in response. She spins on her heel and points towards Sam. "...break the other."

"Sammy! Don't worry man, I got this bitch's number!"

"Awwww, isn't that touching. You still think you can save him. And yourself. If I knew how to cry I may have just shed a little tear there. Trust _me_ sweetheart, in about a minute you won't give one little shit about the boy in the box."

Her eyes cloud over then and he gets a very, very bad feeling in his gut. He stares out to his brother, sends him his patented wink and smirk and stays focused on him as long as he can, until ultra-crone cuts off his view.

"Now, where were we? Ah yes…"

The syringe is there again, has taken its familiar place in that mouth of hers, and all he can do is watch in horror as she ties a second tourniquet, this time around her own arm.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by!<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello everyone. Sorry for the wait, busy real life has made writing time next to nil the past little while. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter and thanks again, so much, for all of your lovely reviews, they really make my day!**

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><p>She pulls the band tight around her arm and delicately removes the syringe from her teeth, all the while beaming a crooked smile towards him.<p>

"So Dean….."

She plunges the needle in and hisses softly as the blood starts to leave her body and gather in the tube. But the blood it's…. it's….

"Figure it out yet?..."

…wrong… almost black… like…

"W…what the hell… are you?"

She turns to face him and inches ever closer to his arm with that damn needle of sludge. He's gonna hyperventilate soon. He can feel his heart try to jump right out of his chest. He can feel his own blood start to seep from his wrists as he steps up his frantic efforts to get free. Not… don't… can't turn into a monster. Not that. Anything but that.

She blinks once and her eyes… her _black_ fricken eyes bore right through him. A demon? No, that's not possible. That's…

"Dean, just relax. I'm not your typical demon. I've never even been to Hell. I certainly wasn't born there. I'm what you might call a product of my environment, a _hybrid_. A human, left in the care of demons. I'm sure I fought it at first, just like you, but now I wouldn't have it any other way. You will come to see it too, while your brother gets a front row seat."

"Don't fricken touch me… reject…"

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but insults... mmmmm..."

She straddles him, her eyes dart toward the pulsing vein in his arm; the vein that she intends to release her poisoned filth into.

"So tell me... honestly, how are you holding up slugger? You seem to have lost a little of that good old piss and vinegar. Does it bother you? The fact that you are changing into the kind of thing you despise. Into a so called monster, just like me?"

He's pretty sure he can't keep it out of his features anymore. He's terrified that everything she has told him is true. She is going to change him, turn him into a freaking demon _thing_. Into a killer. Christ, does that…. He swallows at the thought. Did he actually massacre all those people? Did he…. No… he couldn't… wouldn't… even if he was hopped up on demonic juice he…. Shit... No way... no way...

"Nah, I think you're full of shit lady. I don't know what the hell you are exactly, well, besides the most messed up fugly we've come across in a very long time. Don't worry though, I'll make sure and send you where you belong. To Hell. I'm sure you wanna mix and mingle with the other evil sacks of shit that are swimming around down there in the sludge right?"

He wishes she would stop smiling. It's really creeping him out. He just needs to focus. To remember what Sam said. He needs to fight it. He can't give over control to this crazy ass shit. But damn it if she won't even take the bait this time.

"You know, I just can't keep secrets to myself, they are simply too delicious not to share."

She lowers her voice, looks around the dark room as if to make sure there ain't any witnesses there to overhear her confession, and lingers to where Sam is before looking to him again. She is one crazy bitch.

"Your brother? Your precious little Sammy? _He_ knows. _He_ knows what I am. _He_ knows how to kill me. Hell, he _did_. _He_ made me what I am . Left me there to rot."

Bullshit. Horseshit. Bullcrap. And any other kind of shit that's out there. This wench ain't gonna convince him, ever, that Sam is responsible for whatever the hell she turned out to be.

"You're... lying..."

"But, now I'm back. Better than ever. New and improved so they say. Sam? He was a hard one to find you know, took the lives of a lot of other hunters to flush him out. But it was worth all the time and trouble. And you? When I found out about you and the bond you share with him, the connection, well it was just like the yummy frosting on an already kick ass cake."

Another eerie chuckles worms its way from her lips.

"Well that, and the fact that this time I get to watch _him_ die, and I don't have to lift one damn finger."

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoyed!<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello and welcome back. I hope you will enjoy this chapter. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the wonderful feedback on this story thus far. Thank you! ENJOY! :D**

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><p>Obviously this bitch doesn't know that much about the Winchester brothers. They got each other's back. Always.<p>

"But, not just a simple, bloody death. I get to watch him die all twisted and broken while he looks into your emotionless, empty eyes as you squeeze the last breath from his lips."

God, he just wants her to shut up already. He wants to puke so bad he can taste it in the base of his throat. But hell, he ain't no quitter and he sure as hell ain't going down without a damn fight.

She leans in to hover an inch from his face and he can't help but smirk up at her then. This stupid, demon-wanna-be reject of Hell. He arches his head back and flings it forward. He can't help the smile that spreads across his face or the chuckle that slips out when she lets out a painful grunt as skull meets skull. Who gives a shit if he just amped his own headache up by untold degrees, it's all good.

Of course, never one to think things entirely through first, he is rewarded with an arm across his throat and a shower of spit to his face as she lets her fury fly.

"You will learn to behave, just like the pathetic dog that you are! You are mine Dean, to do with what I will. Maybe I'll parade you around on a leash and laugh as you whimper and whine for my attention!"

"Blah, blah blah. Whatever. I am still going to kill you. Bitch."

She turns to address his brother, still held prisoner, still in shackles.

"Sam? Ohhhhh Sammy? How much longer do you think he'll last?"

The whore looks back at him, tilts her head and seems to give him a quick once over. It makes his skin crawl. She is looking at him but her words are definitely directed at Sam.

"Um, I'm guessing it's going to take a heck of a lot longer to come down from the high this time." Looks back to the cage again. "Say so long to your big brother Sam."

Shit. She ups the pressure on his throat and he feels like he's on the verge of passing out, his airway blocked by her grip. Damn it, she packs a hell of a lot more of a punch that he thought. Figures.

She looks down at him, stares into his eyes and raises the needle so he can see the contents swirl within.

"Should we finally get this party started?"

He feels tears sting the corner of his eyes as it dawns on him that this is actually going to happen. This crone is actually going to jab him with her taint. She has every intention of making him just like her. Figures that the one glimmer of hope he always clings to when he gets himself into this kind of freakshow is currently attached to a damn metal box. He is right there but he may as well be on another planet. He wishes Sam was anywhere else than stuck in this shithole with him, at least then he would be safe.

Shit. Christ. No. Please. Sam can't help him and he can't help Sam. A wave of despair flows through him at that.

The tension on his neck eases up a bit and he sucks in a shaky breath.

"Just kill me you evil sack of shit. Spare me the drama queen act would ya? You kinda suck at it." Please?

"For the last... I don't want to kill you Dean, you are just the little itty bitty pawn in a much bigger game. Well, maybe that's not entirely true. I do want to kill _parts_ of you, the ones that make you who you are. Goodbye humanity. Goodbye righteousness. Piece by piece you will crumble away, like dust in the wind. But, believe it or not, this isn't about you. It's Sam who will truly suffer. He will suffer just like those who knew me in another life did. They didn't deserve it but _he _does."

Wait, hold the phone a damn minute. This doesn't make sense. None of it. Sam... Sam couldn't have... Didn't this... didn't this hag say that she hasn't had this much fun in _centuries_? So... either Sammy has somehow managed to keep it a secret that he's a hundred and some odd years old, or something stinks here, and it sure as hell ain't just him.

"Wow. You are a piece of work you know that? Newsflash for you ugly, not buying the poor me routine. And not buying that Sam turned you into whatever the frick you are. But I'll let _you_ in on a little secret. Don't tell Sam, but I'm damn proud of him for killing a heartless bitch like you, just sorry it didn't stick. So yeah, I'm on to you. You're not who you say you are. Nah, you're just another demon skank who needs to be put down like the damn dirty dog that _you_ are."

He hears a rattle and a bang come from the other side of the room. Sam. Even tied and gagged he is telling him that he is onto something here.

Her eyes blaze and he sees a snarl form on her lips. Huh, that hit the nail on the head. But okay, maybe goading some devil spawn isn't the smartest move he's ever made.

"Goodbye Sammy's brother."

If only he had enough time to figure the rest of it out.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by! <strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello again, thanks for coming back. Sorry I have not responded to your reviews, my internet crapped out for the last three days so I thought I would get this chapter out before anymore unforseen things happen! I promise I will get back to each review as soon as I can! I hope as always you will enjoy this and I can't thank you all enough for your support and awesome feedback! THANK YOU! **

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><p>She bares down on his neck and forces his head to the side. And he can see Sam, eyes wide and appendages taut trying to escape the chains. She yells over him, across to the other side of the room.<p>

"Watch closely Sam! Watch me take away the most important thing in your life!"

He can't move. At all. He flinches as her tongue travels up the side of his neck like she is marking her fricken territory. Like she is marking... him.

"Mmmm, that's the spot."

Crap, she's gonna stab him in his damn neck.

He feels tears sting the corner of his eyes as it dawns on him and panic swirls through his frame. She is actually gonna poison him with her stank, with her damn demon blood. God, he wishes they could go back to the good old days of burnin' bones and frying wendigos nice and crispy like. But no, once again they have to deal with some crazy eyed bitch who hasn't quite worked through all of her issues yet. Fricken peachy.

She is hellbent on changing him into the same freak of nature she is. This is worth than death, and he supposes in his working a mile a minute mind that that is exactly the point. But why the major stick up her ass anyways? What could little Sammy have done to rile her up like this? Whatever it was he wishes to Hell is brother could've finished the job cuz this it pretty high on the 'this sucks ass' list.

His eyes reach out the way the rest of him can't, for the one source of comfort and support he has relied on for most of his life. His eyes flash over to his brother. He hears Sam's voice in his head. 'Fight man. Fight it. Don't give in... don't give up.' Don't forget...

"Sssssmmmmm..."

It's violent and meant to show him who's boss as she deliberately and painfully plunges the needle into his strained and pulsating artery. He groans and sputters as his world seems to tilt and the tightness in his limbs begins to let go. Frick, the cow did it. He's actually been injected with...

He growls and mumbles another slurred 'Ssssssmmmm' and tries to let loose every single expletive he's got in his vast inventory. He can feel it crawling inside him, seeping out from the confines of his veins to spread out like a blanket of darkness throughout his entire body.

But... wait, it doesn't hurt. It doesn't... it's... soothing and gentle, like he's wrapped up in a cocoon of confidence and purpose. He isn't scared or hurt or angry or ashamed. He is completely and utterly content with himself. He thinks maybe it's been a long time since he has felt like this, and he ain't gonna turn this kind of euphoria away, he's gonna embrace it.

He keeps his eyes towards the other end of the room but can't seem to remember why. There was something there he wanted to see he thinks, something he needed to keep an eye on. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head as whatever tension had built up inside him and whatever reason it had invaded him slowly releases itself. He feels... fine.

The mattress shifts and her beautiful face comes into view.

"There. All done. Are you feeling better Dean?"

He smiles up at her as her silky voice worms its way into his head. Her beauty is undeniable. Her touch is soft and as she lays her hand along his cheek, he melts into it, longs for it. Hmmm. This is nice. This is peaceful. This is awesome. This feels right. The urge is strong, he wants to reach out to her and reciprocate the selfless affection she is heaping onto him but... he can't. He's... His eyes drift to his wrists and ankles before they scan up to look back to her face. She looks forlorn and sad and he knows that he hates the look embedded in her features.

"I know it's confusing and I'm sorry but I had to, for your own protection. I had to be sure you wouldn't hurt yourself. Please forgive me."

Nothing to forgive. She would never hurt him. He... he knows she wouldn't. They... they are the same. But why would he want to hurt himself, that doesn't make sense.

"You probably don't remember but you... you were poisoned."

Poisoned? Rage ignites in his gut and the only thing he can think of is killing whatever sack of shit did this to him, made him feel weak and powerless and forced to be confined like some kind of stupid animal. Whatever did this to him, and whatever made her have that look of pain and guilt on her stunning face is going to pay. He will make them suffer, will paint himself in their blood and do it with a damn smile on his face.

She leans closer to him and his breath catches in his throat.

"It's okay, we will get through this and you will be whole again. I've been giving you the antitode, the sickness is starting to leave your system but it has been difficult. Nasty stuff made you forget who you are and... it... it even made you forget... well, doesn't matter now, you are back with me and that is what's important. Just promise me you'll tell me if you start to feel different again, if you start to question things. Can you do that?"

Of course he can.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by to have a look! :D<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi there and welcome back, sorry for the delay but you know that thing called real life? Well, it's been messing with me so I haven't had much time to write as of late. For those of you wanting to know why this wench has it in for Sam so bad I'm sorry to say we don't get to find that out quite yet. However, there is an interesting 'twist' in this chapter that I hope you will enjoy. Thanks to all of you for being so encouraging with you reviews, I can't tell you how much they mean to me! :)**

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><p>She stares long and deep into his eyes, like she is trying to make sure that he is back with the program. He kind of loses track of time in that moment but although his mind is fuzzy and he feels unsure of what exactly happened to get him here, he has no doubt that she will take care of him and make him whole once more.<p>

She leans towards him, her arms on either side of his. He lifts and strains his head to reach out to her. The warmth rushes through him the closer she edges to him until she stops and they are nose to nose. He can feel the tickle of her breath on his face and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up to attention when she closes her eyes and lets out a contented sigh. He moistens his chapped lips and pants softly in tandem with the beat of his heart as he anxiously awaits to see what she is going to do next.

Her eyes flick open and his breath catches in his throat. He feels like he is being dragged right into those eyes, into those black pools, and it only heightens the emotions that swirl inside him, the ones that are already ramped up to the nth degree. He is frozen to the spot and his mouth gapes open as he continues to peer into the beautiful darkness of her soul. The longer he stares, the further he gets drawn in, and the more he realizes without a doubt that this is where he belongs. This is where he is meant to be. Right here. With her. A demon. Just like him.

He is forced to break his gaze and gasps aloud at the sudden, rippling sensation of pain as it seems to stab right through the heart of him, as it rattles its way into his very core. He whimpers and clenches his jaw and fists as what feels like fiery lava seems to flow in place of blood through his veins. He looks to her, searches her face in desperation to be his anchor as he rides out wave after wave of agony. She places a soothing hand on his cheek and although the fire still burns, he feels a sense of comfort from her gentle touch.

"Don't worry, it's just the antidote, it's still flowing through your bloodstream. Just breathe through it. Give it a little more time, the pain will fade, I promise. Just a little longer.. it..."

Although her lips still move, he can't make the words out as her voice begins to drift off. He opens his mouth to try and speak but is stopped abruptly as a rush of something else, something so utterly undescribable and intoxicating flushes and tracks through his veins and makes what pain he had felt seconds before dissolve into dust. Mmmmmm...

"It'll be over soon… you'll be fine… just…"

He wants her to shut up. She is ruining his moment of bliss. He doesn't acknowledge her words or the touch of her skin on his because they suddenly mean nothing. In fact, he feels a swell of repulsion and violation at the thought that somehow she thinks she is worthy of being allowed to treat him like this. He tries to shrug away from her, tries to convey with his body language how much he despises her at this moment.

She doesn't get the hint but whatever, he won't let her spoil his euphoria. He can't be bothered to give her the time of day, can't think to waste any of this feeling on such a worthless piece of shit. He won't give her any satisfaction, he will only focus on the current sensation that his own body is devouring him with.

He can feel it build like a crescendo, morph into something he can't remember ever feeling before.

It sure is not from the touch of _her _but something far more satisfying and invigorating. He can feel it. Raw and unbridled and ready to be unleased.

Power.

It surges and cascades, singes and ignites each and every nerve ending with a jolt of raw electricity. He cannot control the shudder that weaves its way from head to toe and he almost hisses when she speaks to him again.

"You're okay Dean... just... breathe..."

No shit you stupid bitch. He is definitely one thousand times better than okay. He is so full of life and power and sheer energy that her puny brain would probably explode if she tried to comprehend it. He can't remember too much about the circumstances that have thrust them together, but right now her only purpose, the only reason for her existence that he can justify is that she is there to serve him, in whatever way he needs.

He chuckles softly. She is still right there. She is stilll talking and still touching and still thinking she means a shit to him. She doesn't. She is nothing and _he_ is everything.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for stopping by and taking a little look at this story of mine! :D<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello again and welcome back! I kind of got this chapter out quickly so I hope it's okay. Thanks as always for following along and to those of you who have left such wonderful reviews? THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH! It truly means a huge amount to me! :D The next chapter may take a little longer to post, quite a busy week coming up but I promise to update as soon as I can! Thanks again for all your support!**

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><p>He huffs out a deep breath and pulls against the restraints he is <em>still<em> held down by. He focuses in on his arms, one after another and feels rage burn up deep from within. He is being held down like a damn animal. And she… she just stays there, unmoving, and watches, treats him like this is something that he deserves. He hones in on her face and can see her eyes widen at the look he can sense filter out across his features.

Fury.

"Untie me."

Her eyes drift away from his.

"Now."

His voice is raw and threatening and he smirks at the way her body flinches at his command. His tone says it all. 'Don't mess with me or you _will_ regret it.' Her face flashes with an expression he can't quite read but as she swallows quickly and clears her throat, the idea that the look is akin to one of fear ignites a flare of excitement to roll throughout his frame. Fear. Of him. Of his power. Of his control.

"I... I don't know if that's...maybe..."

She stammers and stutters and he half wonders why her gaze would suddenly travel to the corner of the room. He follows her eyes and tilts his head as he catches the outline of an object shoved against the wall. He feels an odd sensation, a pang in his chest like whatever is housed inside is of utmost importance. He is intrigued and curious but also, for some reason he can't quite put his finger on, unnerved by its presence and can feel a threat of something weave its way through his brain. He isn't sure why but he needs to get over there.

He pushes the jumbled thoughts to the back of his mind at the realization that even though he feels compelled to take a closer look, he can't, because he is _still_ bound.

He breathes heavily through his nose as his anger edges into the danger zone. She _will_ let him go or she _will_ suffer. Simple as that. He pulls on the restraints and hears them start to creak and groan, as they begin to give way under the strength of his movements.

"You'd be wise to untie me before I do it myself."

His words are so full of contempt and venom that this time she keeps her mouth shut, she doesn't speak or question, just moves to untie one of his hands. He relishes the way she seems to suddenly have become unhinged, desperate to loosen the binds before he voices his displeasure again. Or, perhaps she has clued in that if there is a next time, he won't say one word.

He feels a rush as freedom is given to his left wrist. One down.

He tracks the flurry of her movements, the shakiness in her own hands and the quickened rise and fall of her chest. She's scared and it sends sparks up and down his spine. Scared. Of him.

Wait, he has seen that look before. His mind flashes to a scene he perceives as a memory. He stands over a woman, a pathetic, weak human who looks terrified and whines and pleads with him not to kill her. He chuckles at the sight in his brain. As if. As if he would spend even one speck of energy, one little moment to listen to such an insignificant and worthless creature.

He catches a glimpse of the dried blood on his clothes, his hands, his everything. He closes his eyes and smiles as he replays the excitement, the high he felt tingle through him as his knife ripped through the throat of that thing, as her blood spit and spattered all over the ground, all over him. He quivers, not out of fear but intense pleasure.

As events seem to lose their blurriness and the affects of whatever poison had overtaken him starts to unravel the noose from his mind, he can start to see more and more images that led him to be covered in the sweet, reddish fluid.

His reminiscing is interrupted as he feels the tightness let go from his other wrist. Hand number two freed. He looks up and takes stalk of the demon who has wisely decided to feverishly work with her hands instead of her damn mouth, to proceed with the business of getting him untethered. His lips curve up once more as he now notices a thin layer of sweat coat her skin. She is definitely and genuinely frightened of him. Awesome.

She starts to mutter softly under her breath. 'This isn't right... not this... wasn't supposed to be like this... this isn't right...'

He silently chides himself for wasting time on her, like she is worth even one moment of contemplation, angry at himself that her disjointed utterances should warrant any kind of attention from him. He tunes out her babbling and frantic movements and instead looks to each of his bloodied hands with a gaze so intense they should combust from the blazing inferno that juts out from his eyes. He brings them up to his face and smiles, a crooked and evil smile, as he slowly examines the dried flakes of crimson that they have been painted in.

Wider still his smile beams as he begins to sharpen the images in his mind, begins to turn the volume up on all the screams they uttered, on all the pathetic pleas for mercy they begged him with, the ones that fell on deaf and unsympathetic ears. One thing he will never dole out is mercy. Mercy is a weakness and one thing he is not, is weak. He does not do mercy.

_Demons_ do not know mercy.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks as always for taking time out of your day to read this! :)<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi there! Okay, so I am really, really behind on getting to your reviews and I apologize for that, I promise I will respond to all of them as soon as I can! I hope you enjoy this and I hope to update sooner next time. And, I'm afraid I am back to really short chapters for the moment.**

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><p>He breathes deeply and savours the last remnants of the visions that start to fade from behind his eyes. The feeling strums over him. He craves it. The rush. He… he hungers for it. In fact, he needs it. Needs to feel the blood slick his skin as it pumps out rapidly at first, then slows to a crawl as another life is drained and bled dry by his hand. He needs to see it coat him, watch it glisten beautifully against his skin. He licks his lips and utters a soft moan at the mere thought of it.<p>

He wants to watch, no, wants to _cause_ another parasite that crawls around on the earth to be squashed like an insect whose marks have left a rash of the surface of its skin.

Humans. They have had their time. Soon they will be cast out and become extinct. Demons will take their place in the light, will live out their existence far away from the fires of Hell.

He swallows. Demons. The word bounces and reverberates in the corners of his mind. He stifles a shiver as an overpowering sense of repulsion wriggles its way into his brain.

Demons. The word suddenly causes him to flinch, to shake his head slightly and gasp at the flutter of fear that penetrates through his strength and infiltrates the recesses of his mind.

He growls in frustration. Damn poison. He will not let himself be changed or absorbed by it, will not allow himself to be deflected in his purpose. Annihilate. Kill. Slaughter. Free the face of the planet from their taint.

He wavers again, the thoughts that had previously given him such joy now cause bile to bubble up from his depths. He looks to his hands and feels the urge to gag at the blood he finds there. Wait. This is wrong. Shit. He's….

Antitode. He needs more. Right? No he doesn't. Yes he does. He growls at his inner struggle. His eyes find the corner of the room again, he thinks he can hear something emanate from it. He holds his breath, closes his eyes and listens.

The faintness of the sound, the soft clang of metal on metal makes him want to rush over and find the source of the noise. Something is there. Something is calling out to him, trying to draw his attention towards that place.

A gentle, concerned voice floats through him. 'You need to fight this Dean. Don't let it control you. Don't listen to it. Fight it with all you have.' He knows that voice. It's... it's... He battles with it within his mind. It must be the poison.

'Fight it.'

He sees a face. It wears an expression of worry and he feels a pull of strong recognition. He thinks... he thinks he knows it. That face. 'Fight it Dean.' That voice. It causes a swell of emotion to ooze straight out from his heart. He shakes his head.

The face is human. It shouldn't mean one damn thing to him. But, as he tenses and his breath quickens, he knows it does.

And he knows the owner of it is in the corner of that room.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by.<strong>


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi there and welcome back. I can't thank you enough for your continued support of this story. I'm afraid my computer has decided not to allow me to respond to your reviews but I hope each of you know how much they mean and what a motivator they are to continue on with this. I appreciate it very much! For those of you longing to see/hear Sam again, I think he'll be showing up in the next chapter.**

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><p>He is brought out of his inner debate by the touch of a hand on his leg. His eyes divert themselves from their current gaze to search out what has brushed up against him.<p>

Huh. He almost forgot about her.

She. It. This demon is the cause of all his confusion and sudden weakness, he is sure of that. She is toying with him. The antidote. The thing he needs to stop the emotions and uncertainty, she has it and must sense, must _know_ that he needs it, that he is starting to falter again in his resolve. And _still_ she lets him suffer. It must be obvious that he needs more. Right?

No he doesn't. Yes, he does. 'Don't give in. Don't give up.'

He growls at the voice that continues to loop around in his head. But that's okay, he can handle it. He knows that once he gets what he needs he won't hear it anymore, won't feel the emotions that seem to run amuck within him at the sound of it.

The bitch that taunts and teases him, her betrayal and disregard for his struggle surges renewed anger and hatred through his veins.

His mind abandons all of its other questions. He pushes the voice to the background, forgets the corner of the room and the back and forth dialogue in his mind about the right and wrong in his desire and urge to kill. He focuses on her instead. He will not show weakness, he can't. Not to the likes of this unworthy sack of shit.

He watches, his eyes narrow and his mouth formed in a tense line as she hesitates above his ankle, unaware of his 'burning a hole in her stupid head' gaze.

"Hurry up before I start to get pissed off… you stupid… I… I need…"

She lifts her gaze at that as she unbinds one of his legs.

He curses under his breath. He regrets the hoarseness of his voice and the pathetic twinge laced within it of his want and need. He despises the tremor that seems to have taken root in his limbs.

No, this is wrong. He is stronger than this. Stronger than her. Damn poison.

Her voice comes out sickly sweet, free of the quivering sound it held before. "What was that? What is it you need? Sounded kind of _weak_ just then. That's better, that's more like it."

"Antidote… need… feel…"

Shit. He needs to shut up before... damn, too late.

She pats his leg and gives him a feigned look of sympathy. Gone is the frightened look and the shaking hands. Back is the hollow smile and fiery gaze. "Not feeling so hot right now are you Dean? What's the matter? Confused? Unsure of all the conflicting thoughts and emotions running through that pretty little head of yours? That's normal and I can fix that. I can fix it all. I can make it so you never question your sanity or purpose again. But…"

He is going to kill her. As soon as he gets the antidote and has regained his strength he is going to rip her fricken head off with his bare hands. His lips quirk slightly at the way he will take his time and feel special pleasure when he peels that smug look off of her face, literally. But he'll play along for now, and will laugh in her face when she realizes she has lost at her own game, as her twisted and broken body lays at his feet.

"But?..."

Her lips curl up at the gravelly voice he allows to penetrate through his throat.

Her sultry and eager voice whispers through the air. "I want to hear you beg for it. Tell me how much you _need_ it. How much you _want_ it. Tell me…"

She saunters over to him, full of confidence and bravado. She leans in to cup his face in her hands. He looks to her then and seems to be swallowed up in her gaze. He should be repulsed by her, should throttle her throat with his unbound limbs but finds he suddenly can't think straight. It's... it's like he is losing himself to her and a shiver runs its course as a sudden flash of dejavu whirls through his brain. He has looked into her eyes before, has yearned and ached to feel her body against his. Has...

He lifts himself up to reach his arms around her back. She sighs at the touch and gets closer still until their lips touch. Fire. It ignites from his gut at the sensation of her skin on his and before he can make sense of any of it, he crushes her mouth with his own and breathlessly begs her.

"P..please… I need it… the antidote… please…"

He feels her lips curve in a smile against his own and she up and leaves him there, panting and trying to catch his breath. He can't fathom the sudden power the bitch seems to have over him. His head seems to clear not long after she removes herself from his personal space to stand at the foot of the bed, teasing his freedom with a well placed hand on the last bind.

Oh, he wants her alright. Painful and bloody. That is how he _wants_ and _needs _to see her. That is how she is going to die.

"You need to do something for me first." He watches as her smile widens and her eyes travel from him to that damn corner again. She nods her head in that same direction.

"All you have to do is take care of the surpise I left for you in the metal box. _Then_ you will get what you want. _Then_ you can have your medicine and feel whole again."

His chest constricts. His pulse quickens and he feels moistness in his eyes. No, he won't do that. He can't. The face is back, it floats around in his brain, in his heart.

But why does it matter what's in there, _who's_ in there? He doesn't care right? He shouldn't care. He just... all he wants is for the poison to stop messing with him, for it to be gone so he can concentrate on his mission to kill. And he plans to start with her.

So if it means he can rid himself of the doubt and taint that rolls through his veins then so be it. He can play along. He can agree to kill the damn human in the cage if it means he will be cured.

He'll let her think that she has won and then take the antidote by force. She will give up its location with her last breath, as he crushes the air out of her lungs.

She looks at him, smug and assured that he will do what she asks. She stops, her hand still wavering over the last restraint that keeps him attached to the bed.

"So? Do we have a deal Dean?"

"Yeah... "

She smiles and so does he.

The demon whore is about to get what she deserves.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by.<strong>


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello! I bet you thought that I had entirely forgotten about this story. Well, let me just say… WRITER'S BLOCK IS A BITCH! So many ideas looped around in my head and then when I sat down to type them…NOTHING! Ugh, what a frustrating experience and one that got me just a tad on the super ticked off side! Anyhoo, blah..blah..blah…. I needed to write something, ANYTHING to try and get this moving along again. I apologize in advance as this was written in about twenty minutes. Thanks to any who have decided to come back, sorry about the delay, unintentional I assure you. I hope you will enjoy!**

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><p>She hovers for the briefest of moments before he feels the release of his last bound-to-the-bed appendage and closes his eyes in sweet relief. Freedom is awesome. Awesome? What kind of idiot word is that? Who cares, it's the death of that demon bitch that he intends to focus on, and it is going to be priceless.<p>

He swings his legs to the floor and pauses while a slight sliver of dizziness passes through him. Hands on his knees, he lifts his head slowly and eyes the thing that stands beside him.

"Ready Dean?"

Oh, he sure as hell is ready to get his fix and put himself out of the misery of her condescending and annoying company.

He dips his head quickly to send her an acknowledgement of his readiness and she moves to kneel before him, her eyes at the same level as his.

"Okay, you've been lying down for a long time so let me help you up."

She reaches to take his wrist in her hand and he catches something, he sees marks on her arm that makes his eyes intensify their gaze. Looks like a druggie roadmap.

A flash of memory floats through his cottage cheese mind and he can see a hazy image of her, tying her arm and gathering blood, _her_ blood into a syringe. Yahtzee. _Yahtzee_? He shakes his head and dissipates the slight question that word seems to evoke in him. He can't be bothered to worry about something so insignificant when the antidote, the cure to his weakened state is right in front of him. Rivers of the stuff flow even now underneath the surface of her pale skin. He breathes in and out, slow and deep to try and gauge the current wattage of strength he has within, as his new and improved plan forges itself into his mind.

"J…just give me one minute. Dizzy."

Another sympathetic and fake smile graces her lips and she pats him on his knee like he's a damn child.

"Take your time, I want you to be at your best for what you need to do."

He looks up to her and his smile beams both in eagerness and darkness. He sees the slight crinkle of her brow so softens his expression and closes his eyes to put on the show of both and helplessness.

"Okay, I'm good. Help me up and I'll take care of the little problem in the cage. Then… then you'll give me more right?"

"Of course Dean, of course. Do this one thing for me and I will give you as much as you want."

She has no idea how on the mark she is with that little statement.

He stumbles purposely as she eases him up gently from the cot. He stretches and groans at the exertion and stiffness that reaches his seized, unused muscles.

He feels uneasy as they approach the metal container, the clanging from within getting louder and louder with each step he takes. He stops short of gazing inside, perplexed by the sudden increase of his heartbeat and the clamminess of his hands.

A soft female voice breathes in his ear.

"This... _this _is the human who did this to you. _This_ is the human who made you weak and unsure. You were strong and powerful, unwavering in your mission to kill, a sight for all others to behold. You basked in the glory of the broken bodies that lay at your feet, remember? Before _he_ came along and took it all away, as he tainted you with his poison."

An unbalanced smile steadily forms and creeps its way onto his face, as he is once again flooded with visions of all those detestable insects he took pleasure in annihilating.

She turns his head and her eyes burn into his. "I saved him for you. A gift from me. Exact your revenge Dean. Make him pay for what he has done."

He quivers under her touch, the fire burns hot inside him once again that a pathetic human could make him doubt himself. He moves forward with speed and glares into the cage. Yes. He will pay.

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><p><strong><em>TBC...<em>**


	21. Chapter 21

**Hi and welcome back. Thanks as always for taking the time to read and an extra thank you for those who have flattered me with such wonderful reviews. As always I hope that you will enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>He feels his weakness wane ever so slightly as adrenaline pushes through him, as he feels her press up against his back while he stares with hate and venom at the thing in the box.<p>

He steps forward and emits a low chuckle as the man shrinks away from him. It only takes a moment however until he rights himself to stare into the face of his killer. The kid's got balls, he'll give him that. Kid? Why would he call this human kid? Damn it, whatever.

But, it's not just the fact that he is willing to face his death straight in the eye, it's the eyes themselves that make no sense. There is no fear displayed within them, no terror or horror at what stands before him, but rather what seems to be almost palpable sadness.

The man strains through the device placed over his mouth, his muffled and muted words floating all around them. He tilts his head in question and raises a hand towards the latch that will let the gag fall away.

"No! You don't want to do that Dean. He has tricked you with his words before. Don't let him get to you, not this time."

He turns in defiance and rage and slaps her hard across the face, a smile lingering on his lips as she stumbles away in shock.

"Keep your stupid cakehole shut skank."

Before she can attempt to interfere or intervene with him again, he unhooks the cover and waits for what his next victim has to say for himself.

"Don't let this evil bitch win Dean! Fight it, remember? You're supposed to fight!"

_Fight it… with all you have… _he remembers hearing that before, in that exact same voice. His stance wavers as echoes of doubt wriggle through him again. He slams the side of the container and runs his fists through his hair. He feels… damn, he feels something for this human. Is it real.. or is it the poison…

"You _know_ Dean. Deep down you _know_ who you are, and you know who _I_ am. Not just some human, I am…"

The words are cut off as the glint of an object appears from the side and a knife is plunged into the flesh of the captive's shoulder.

He pauses and listens to the scream that cries out of the man. The scream, it holds no pleasure or satisfaction for him, only a cascade of guilt and sorrow. He flinches when the knife is removed and he hears the sound of flesh and blood as it is dragged across the blade.

He turns, anger and contempt burning and festering through him. She sees the look he wears and holds her hands out to stop his advance on her. Her voice cracks as she pleads with him.

"You see? Why do you never listen? He's turning you again, against what you are meant to be." Her eyes moisten as they fill with unshed tears, her concern for him a sight that makes him question again what images among the myriad that have tumbled through his brain he is supposed to believe.

He ignores her to turn back to the bleeding figure. Two polar opposites invade his mind. The rush of power he felt as body upon body tumbled from his hands to bloody the dirt below and the equally powerful rush of nausea he feels now as he sees blood continue its escape from this man's flesh.

"Who the hell are you and why shouldn't I kill you where you stand?"

Clickety-clack go those heels on the cement floor. He… he remembers something of that too. His head pounds and his throat constricts as he fights to draw air into his lungs. He supports himself against the frame of the door and rests his head on its cool surface to try and contain the fire that rages in his brain.

"This… this is not you. You are not a killer. This bitch is messing with your mind. You are no demon Dean. Hell, you have hunted those bastards your entire life!"

"Shut the hell up you lying sack of shit! If you won't kill him then I will do it myself! You are pathetic and useless Dean, just look at you, brought to your knees by a damn piece of human trash."

His instincts go into overdrive just as Sam yells out a warning from behind. He spins just as she brings up the knife, her malicious intentions clear.

"Not going to stab me in the back, whore."

He grips her arm that wields the knife and smashes it repeatedly against the wall until her fingers uncurl and it falls from her grasp, anger and loathing giving him the strength he needs to take control of her and cut her stupid, incessant rambling off at the knees. He bends to the ground as her body thuds and reverberates against the metal box and before she can catch her breath he has the knife against the flesh of her throat.

"See, when I kill someone I do it eye to eye. No hiding and no running like a snivelling coward. I want them to know who it is that is ending their existence, and believe me, nothing satisfies me more than seeing the light of their eyes dim and gloss over with the haze of death. I can't wait to see that same mask overcome yours."

"P…please… just… I can still help! Just… one more dose and it'll all make sense again. Please!"

"Don't Dean. The antidote is anything but. She's been pumping you full of her own blood!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know Sammy…" He doesn't realize the significance of that utterance but the man does, his sharp intake of breath and its slow release tells him it's far more meaningful than he can grasp at the moment.

He pushes his wonder at the man's reaction to the background and hones his sights on the quivering mass before him. He watches her eyes as they widen as the knife inches closer, at the ready to draw blood.

"You look surprised. Mmmm... it's right there for the taking. All the sweet stuff I could possibly want or need, pumping its way through those plump little veins of yours. Oh, and look at my luck, I just happen happen to have a blood inducing implement in my hot little hand. So you see, you no longer have any control over what I want or do."

The blade cuts a small incision through the tissue of her neck and he can't control his tongue as it darts out to lick his parched lips. He is fixated on the juice that starts to seep out through the wound.

"Dean, listen to me. Don't. You'll change into something you don't want to be. Please."

He turns and punches 'Sam' in the face and watches as blood trickles out from his nose. Another pang of guilt courses its way through him and the decision is made.

He pounces on the bitch, still compliant, stunned and speechless in his grip, and latches onto her neck with his aching mouth. The sweetness of it, the warmth that travels through him as it begins its journey through his veins elicits a moan of pleasure to crawl from the back of his throat.

"Dean… Dean, pleeeease…."

He pauses at her neck, not quite willing to give up his vantage point but also sensing something in that voice that makes his movements slow. He can feel the vibration of her voice against his mouth as she talks.

"See _Sammy_… I told you… he is lost to you… your brother is lost. He is one of us now, and you will know the pain of…"

He contains the chuckle that wants to fly out and fill the room with laughter. The light bulb has just been turned on.

Demons lie. It's a fact. Dean knows that. But what he didn't realize, at least not until this moment is that demons? They are pretty fricken stupid too.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello and welcome back. I am really itching to get this story finished up for some reason so here is another chapter for your perusal ;) Thanks as always for the reviews and for checking this story out, muchly appreciated!**

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><p>He stays where he is, his mouth poised over the slash he made across her throat. He isn't openly sucking on her neck anymore but he can't help but lick the errant drops of blood as they escape and dribble down her skin.<p>

"You know the one thing that I have managed to learn over the years?"

"Mmmm… what's that Dean?"

"Demons lie."

He doesn't wait for a response before he pushes the full weight of his body into the writhing bitch. He looks in her face but she just smiles and glances to the knife in his hand.

"Do it Dean. Make me bleed. Let yourself be covered in it, your hands slick and painted in my blood. You will have as much as you want, just one more thrust with your knife and you can quench the thirst I can see in your eyes. Do it. You are a master of the slice and dice after all."

He swallows and his hands start to shake, the image of blood and gore littered around his feet, and him, smiling like the carnage and macabre scene is the most beautiful sight he has ever laid his eyes upon.

"Did… I mean, did I…"

It always amazes him how Sam knows what he is trying to ask without him actually having to utter the words.

"No Dean, you didn't kill anyone. She just pumped you full of god knows what and planted those visions in your head. Screwed with your mind until you actually thought you were the one who had done it."

He feels the vibration of her voice box as she chuckles soft and strained through the firm hold he has on her, not letting her and her tastiness too far out of reach.

"Come on Dean, I know you want to take it. I am here and I am ready. Let me help you."

He can't stop himself, it's calling out to him. He stares and longs for the taste, for the rush of it to surge through him. He edges closer again to the crimson mark across her flesh.

"Dean? Come on bro, I of all people know how it feels. I know, it's right there for the taking and you think… you think it will make you strong and powerful but I also know it isn't worth the price. _You_ know it too. You do not want to turn into something like her, just a half-breed bitch who isn't human anymore but that sure as hell ain't pure demon either.

You and I are different, you don't know how it will affect you, too much and you might never come back. I know it's tempting man but you need to listen to me. You need to fight!"

His voice is low and dangerous as it crawls from the base of her neck outward to slam into his brother.

"Fight? Huh, that's a good one. Just like _you_ did Sam? I can control…"

Wow. When the buzz comes it's hard and fast and oh so good. He lets another moan fall from his open mouth as the power of her blood mixing in with his gives him the kind of high he isn't sure he ever wants to stop. Just imagine all the evil sons of bitches he could kill, hopped up on this shit.

"I can see now how your demon lay got you hooked on her shit Sammy. Good to the last drop I bet."

He turns to face his brother, a glimmer in his eyes that makes Sam look like he's about to spew.

"Dean, you _know_ how that turned out. Bad. Really, really bad. Lucifer? The cage? I was wrong. God, I was so wrong. You tried to tell me Dean but I didn't listen. So please, you need to!"

But no, he doesn't want or need to listen. What he _wants_, what he _needs_ is to ride the wave of his latest fix and then take some more.

He turns to take another lick of sweetness before he speaks again.

"I owe you an apology Sam.. I never realized what a boost this is. If… if I can just take enough to… to give me the edge then I will be the most kick ass hunter ever."

"No Dean, you are so wrong, just like I was. You will turn into a monster, just like I did, out of control and unable to see the truth. Remember Dean? What you told me once?"

Oh for the love of... Sammy sure likes to babble.

"What Sam?"

"That if you didn't know me, you would want to hunt me?"

Well, if that ain't enough to ruin a man's trip, he doesn't know what else could.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	23. Chapter 23

**Hi there and welcome back. Short, short chapter this time around (which is how I started this story off I think ;) Sat down at the computer this morning and this is what popped out. Hope you enjoy.**

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><p><em>'If I didn't know you… I would want to hunt you.'<em>

The statement echoes around in his head, memories of that confrontation with his brother as painful now as the moment it happened. He did say that and damn it, he meant it. Sam wasn't Sammy anymore, just a super charged, distorted version of the brother he knew.

But this… this is different. He… he is different. He won't turn into one of those things, he won't have black eyes and a black soul to match. Not that Sam had a black soul, just so fricked up that he couldn't see what he was becoming. Right?

Her soft, slightly strained voice envelops him once again with its sweetness.

"I know you can feel it Dean, the strength and potency of it, the thrill of the rush as it runs through you. Why do you continue to deny yourself this one pleasure? You could feel this way forever, never bogged down again with indecision or guilt. The more you take, the less you will struggle with all the shit that rolls around in your head. Freedom Dean. That is what I am here to offer. Freedom."

He looks to her eyes once more as her statement reaches his mind. No more pain. No more guilt. No more doubt. He drops his head to sigh into the side of her neck.

"Yeah, sure, and then you'll be just like this bitch bro. Kind of forgot to mention the downside. Infected. Tainted. Inhuman. Killing at random just because you think inflicting pain onto others will take your own away."

He hears what is akin to a growl roll its way through her throat.

"And just whose fault is THAT Sammy?"

She trembles in anger now, the vibration ripples its way beneath his fingers.

"Look in the mirror bitch, and you'll see whose fault it is! You have become so messed up and twisted over the years that you look for anyone to blame. _You_ gave in, _you_ chose to become what you are. _You_. I offered to end it, a way out, but you refused and ran off into the night like a dog with your tail between your legs. Time for it to stop. Time for you to die."

"YOU KILLED MY FAMILY YOU BASTARD!"

He hears Sam chuckle from over his shoulder. Not a normal chuckle but an 'are you fricken kidding me' kind of sound.

"Whatever you have to tell yourself. But you _know_ the truth. _You_ killed them long before I came along."

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	24. Chapter 24

**Hi and welcome back. Hope you enjoy this latest chapter. Thank you as always for following along and encouraging me with your lovely reviews, they do mean the world to me! **

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><p>He wishes they would just shut up so he could think. His head is pounding an annoying rhythm against his skull, his hands are clammy and all he wants to do is take another drink to make it stop. He leans in, closer to her skin, to her flesh, to her blood.<p>

He murmurs against the pulsating vein in her neck, his want to have it slowly melting all of his remaining resistance away.

"Sam? How did… how do you stop it?"

"You let me help you Dean, just like you did for me. Remember? Tough love? You saved me from it man, let me do the same for you."

"NO! Don't listen to this murderer Dean! Do it! PLEASE! Take it! Let it numb your mind and body, let it free you from your brother and his LIES!"

He closes his eyes and gasps fast and unsteady as the struggle surges through him.

"_You_ killed them. When you did the same thing to them you have done to Dean. You poisoned them, you tainted them and turned them into monsters. You stripped their humanity away and left them without a soul. They wanted to die, they begged for me to end their suffering, and I did, not out of hate but compassion. Changing Dean isn't going to bring them back!"

He flinches as she takes hold of the knife in his hand and presses it deeper into her throat.

"Maybe not, but seeing your brother turn into the twisted and warped thing that I have been for all these years will fill me with contentment and euphoria as I die. You are still bound in place Sam, and only Dean will be able to set you free. But I don't think he will. I think he is already too far gone. And you will still die by your brother's hand."

He lifts his head as she whispers his name and cringes as the hold on the knife tightens even further.

"This is my final gift to you Dean. You know what to do. Be strong and don't give in. Remember how you felt and how powerful you can be. Remember that. Remember me."

Before he can move she plunges the knife into her neck to its hilt, blood spurting out of the cut and her mouth, a tight smile painted upon her features even as her life gurgles and sputters out from her body and she becomes dead weight, falling in a bloodied, lifeless mess to the floor.

Rivers of red, everywhere. His heart thumps loudly in his chest, the fluid intoxicating and nauseating at the same time. He drops to his knees beside her and pulls out the knife, letting his fingers run through the sea of fluid, sighing at the texture and slickness as it coats his hand. He hears his brother say his name through the fuzziness of the background, as he is overtaken by the burning need in his chest. He lifts his hand and stares in awe at the power that has been painted on it and on her body. He smiles at the growing pool that surrounds the area where she lays. It's endless and it's there for the taking, lit up like a neon sign pulling him ever closer towards its vibrant, crimson shade.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	25. Chapter 25

**Hello and welcome back. Thank you as always for all your enthusiastic reviews, I will never be able to express how truly wonderful they make me feel. I hope you will enjoy this latest chapter. **

**All the best of the season to you and yours.**

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><p>It saturates his jeans, the wetness soaking through the denim until it passes the barrier of fabric to touch the skin underneath. He shivers at the awesomeness of the sensation.<p>

And that is what tips him over the edge.

He drops the knife, its echo fills the chamber as it clatters against the floor. He scurries like a rabid dog on all fours until he reaches the source of the buffet that has surrounded him on all sides, on the body that still brims with the intoxicating potion.

"Dean… please… Look. At. Me."

No. He can't. He doesn't want to. Sam will flash those eyes at him and he'll fold like a stack of cards. Sam had his chance to feel the surge and the rush. He said it himself, they are different so maybe he can handle it. Maybe he can…

"DEAN!"

The rattle of metal on metal snaps his attention away from the gruesome yet delectable scene to the sight of his brother straining against his binds.

Dried blood sits on his face, his eyes clouded over in worry and concern and... pain? Perfect. He is going to try and take this away from him. And hell if he isn't struck by the sudden fact that _he_ is the one who did the damage he sees on his brother's face.

Damn it. Maybe he _isn't_ as in control as he thinks, as he _wants_ to be with this shit.

"You need to trust me here. Please, just listen to me for one damn minute okay? You _do_ trust me… right?"

He nods his head slightly, an automated response to that question releasing itself before he can stop it. Trust Sam. Trust Sam. He closes his eyes as the mantra gets stuck and loops around in his head. Trust Sam. Trust Sam. Over and over he recites the words but it still takes an enormous effort to try and ignore the feel of the sweetness that surrounds him, that is on his hands, his legs, his….

"Glad to hear that Dean."

His eyes snap open and it's only when his mouth closes with a pop that he realizes he has been uttering those words out loud.

"I can see it in your eyes bro. You know there is something wrong with this picture. Don't let her win Dean. She's dead, she can't hurt you anymore. We'll get through this together, I promise."

His eyes flicker to the floor and the promise of strength and power and he hears a gust of air from Sam. He raises his eyes back to his brother and watches as he motions to each one of his arms in turn and lets out a soft, humourless chuckle.

"I don't know about you dude, but I'm beat and my arms are killing me, hell, I can hardly feel them anymore. What do you say you get me out of this medieval torture device and we call it a night?"

His breaths come out short and panicked, like an addict confronted by what the consequences will be if they decide to go after their next fix. He can feel his heartbeat quicken and the thought of leaving all of this behind scares him to death.

"Dean, please. I… I'm not feeling so good. She...she stabbed me, remember?"

His focus instantly shifts from his own bout of fear to his brother's well-being. His eyes zero in on his shoulder and he feels sick at the sight of the stain that has seeped out of the wound to colour his shirt. Shit. Sam's hurt. His brother _needs_ him. He... he let his brother... he just sat back and watched while that bitch stuck the knife into his flesh. He stumbles back, the promise he made so long ago rattling around in his brain. Protect Sam. Save… Sam.

"Keys. Where?"

His voice is raw and raspy and apparently incapable of formulating an actual sentence.

"Hanging up, over there."

He follows the direction of Sam's eyes and spots the keys. He reaches over across the bloody mess on the floor and snatches them from their position with almost violent speed to keep his eyes averted from the ever present lure of what is sprawled out at his feet. He shuffles over, his body suddenly encased in concrete as it seems to take all his strength to walk the few steps needed to stand before his brother.

He looks into the eyes of Sam and can feel the love and relief flow out from them. This. He has to do this. Can't leave Sam attached to this damn cage. He grabs his brother's wrist and with shaky hands releases the bind. He flinches as steel meets steel, as gravity takes hold and it plummets to crash and reverberate against the floor. He makes quick work of the other restraint but as it is tossed aside he falls to his knees, the effort of staying upright too much to bear. He can't stop it and he finds his eyes instantly track towards the redness on his jeans.

Sam gently takes the key from his loosened grip and it takes mere moments until his legs are freed and he is there at his level, staring into him with eyes wide and full of worry.

"Dean? Time to get out of here. Ready?"

He can't answer, the sweat and tremors making it pretty much impossible for him to concentrate on anything else but the dead thing that still lies on the floor, her eyes and smile mocking him even in death.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	26. Chapter 26

**Welcome Back! Thank you for your continued support of this tale, I truly do appreciate it and hope as always that you will enjoy this latest chapter.**

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><p>He stays on his knees and silently pleads with his body to stop its sudden impulse to do the herky jerky and spasm in various styles of uncontrolled movement. He feels weird, on the verge of blinding panic and loss of control. But that isn't right, Sam is safe and the bitch is dead so he should feel relieved, only he doesn't.<p>

Sam comes in his view again. He is still there in front of him, complete with raised eyebrows and eyes so deep with concern it starts to make him feel uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable.

"Hey man, still with me?"

His voice is lined with worry, with exhaustion and pain and another pang of guilt slams into him.

"You k S'm?"

As if to emphasize the fact that it took way too much effort to spit out those few words, his arm juts out as a violent spasm floods through him. He feels like he's just been plucked from the frigid waters, his body racked by shivers and the uncontrollable chattering of his teeth caused by the relentless ice that makes its way into his veins.

His eyes dart over to the spoils of their latest hunt, to the gruesome demise of one more evil son of a bitch. The way her body has folded, the way the wall behind her has been splattered with her own blood makes the figure appear surrounded in what looks like a murky halo. He breathes deeply and sighs, calmed by this twisted version of Heaven that is so very close to his grasp.

His breath hitches at that, the rise and fall of his chest uneven and forced, like the strained pistons of a car trying to keep its motor running just enough for the wheels to keep moving along the ground. He blinks and tries to keep himself from succumbing to the promise of relief that is... Just. Over. There.

"Yeah dude, I'm good. And I'm not going to even ask you how you are. Stop looking at it Dean. It's over."

He hears the words but they don't make it beyond the outer rim of his ears, they are hollow and empty and devoid of any meaning.

Her white dress has long since been speckled in shades of deep red and he is mesmerized by the pattern that those splotches have soiled and weaved into the once pristine fabric. Intricate and violent. Tainted. Delicious. It is the only thing that can take his jitters and anxiety away.

He involuntarily licks his lips and is pretty sure he just let out a noise like a damn whimper when his attention is brought back by a set of snapping fingers in his face.

"Dean, what the hell? Look, I'll help you up man and we are getting out of here. You are coming with me. Now."

He startles at the touch on his arm, his brother's fingers cut a path like needles as they dig into the layers of his skin. The sensation pulses at the contact point and slowly slithers its way along, lighting each and every nerve into a frenzy of fire.

He tries to jostle out of the hold, the onslaught of yet another symptom that can be so easily soothed and extinguished by what lays so achingly close yet may as well be a million miles away.

"Try to relax man, I promise, whatever you are feeling, it _will_ pass. We're almost out of here and trust me, you'll feel better soon. Just please, stay with me and hang on a few more minutes alright?"

Before the words can even soak into his brain, Sam hoists him up expelling a grunt of pain as he does. The layer of fog dissipates for a moment to let the dots connect and he remembers Sam is hurt. He struggles to keep that image in the forefront of his mind as his brother brings him up and away from the floor.

He thinks he's standing then, though he can't be sure as he wavers on apparently useless legs.

"I got you bro. I got you. We'll take it slow."

One step forward.

"You're doing great, almost there."

Another step. Shit. They're leaving.

He moves in tandem with his brother, who drags him slowly but surely towards the exit, not by choice but rather necessity as his body continues to rebel against their efforts to leave this morbid scene in the dust. The incessant assurances and words of trust and comfort that Sam whispers in his ear do little to calm his nerves. In fact, they begin to heighten his already off the chart level of agitation and dread with each forward movement.

Another step. He swallows and goes rigid underneath his brother's grip. Sam, he is taking him out of there. His eyes pivot to the fluid that can take all his discomfort and unease away.

"Dean!"

He gasps at the frustration his brother's voice holds and veers his cloudy eyes to look into Sam's.

"Dude, you need to focus. Keep. Moving. You need to trust me because right now you are confused and incapable of figuring this shit out. I know what it's like man, I know your body is on fire and you can't think about anything else but what will take it away. It's not worth it Dean. It's evil and tainted. The sooner we get you out of here and away from that poison the better we will both be. We get to the motel, rest up, and tomorrow we can have a couple of brews and forget all about this. You _know_ I'm right Dean. You _know_."

Yeah, he knows. Somewhere deep down in the recesses of the drugged up soup his mind is swimming in he knows that Sam is right. His body however didn't get the memo as he feels the pull and power that the bitch continues to hold over him. The tug on his body to continue his forward momentum only makes it stronger, and his entire being revolts and quivers from the seemingly inevitable separation of what he needs.

Sam tries to block his view and he feels himself start to get pissed off. Why is his brother so eager to remove him from something that makes him feel so alive and strong and in complete control of himself? His eyes are glued to whatever redness he can manage to spot. His palms sweat and his body tells him in a wave of desire and the crescendo of his heartbeat in his ears that he needs it, that only the crimson fluid will ease the ache and pulsating throb that has overtaken every single muscle and fibre of his being.

"Don't make me carry your ass out of here Dean."

"Like to... see ya try..."

He hears a slight chuckle wiggle its way from his brother's lips and can't help but smirk at the way he can provide a little relief in the midst of a total suck fest. Okay, he can do this.

"Get movin' S'mmy... get the lead out..."

Another step and he hears the distinctive squish of her essence underneath his boots.

Something shortcircuits in that moment and he wouldn't be surprised if a puff of smoke actually exits him through his ears. Logic and reason take a backseat to indulgence and instinct. The one piece of thread that had somehow kept his sanity from tumbling into the abyss finally gives way and lets go, and he has about as much chance of reining it in and stopping himself from what comes next as a feather would if it tried to hold up the weight of the world.

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><p><strong>TBC... Thanks for stopping by!<strong>


	27. Chapter 27

**Hello again. A shortish chapter for you but I hope you will still enjoy. Thank you all for your awesome comments, they mean so much! :D**

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><p>He looks down to his feet and sees the blood spurt out from under his weight. He feels an impatient tug followed by an even more impatient and frustrated 'Dean' come from his brother. He tunes it out. He stands rigid and taut, every muscle on edge, every molecule suddenly stuck in limbo.<p>

He's pretty sure Sam is still regurgitating the same old tune directly into his ear but he is so over it and he ain't up to singing along anymore. Rage and defiance thrum through him. Screw it. He has deprived himself of so much over his entire fricked up life so hell, if he needs it, if he wants it, he is damn well going to have it, whether Sam thinks he should or not. Resolve and a glimmer of strength returns to him from somewhere, he figures it's probably from the constant swirl and haze of red that seems to have clouded his vision into a permanent, beautiful crimson hue.

He shuffles ahead of his brother by a step, fooling him into the false notion that he is back on the rails again before he raises his arms in the air to garner enough momentum to send his ginormous little brother flying with a well-placed elbow to the ribs. He barely registers the sound of Sam's body as it tips over, like an unsuspecting, defenseless tree that never saw it coming, until it's been toppled by a chainsaw.

He should make sure he's okay. He should. But all he knows for sure, all he can focus on in that moment is that he is free, unrestrained and able to soothe his desperation for one last drop, like the drunk that clamours up to the bar for one last round before the booze stops its flow for the night. The bounty is spread out in all its glory for him to feast his hungry eyes upon. It's spread on the wall, the floor, his jeans, his boots...

He dives right into the pool and all his pent up deprivation is unleashed. He laps up the fluid like a ravenous animal going on instinct alone, doing what he must in order to stave off starvation.

He smears his hands in it, draws them up to his face and licks each digit one after the other, moaning in pleasure at the delectable flavour that slides down his parched throat to try and stifle the hunger that surges and coils round his belly like the cobra that is through with warnings and strikes out for the kill.

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><p>He hears a shuffle and a grunt from behind him and groans when his hands are pulled away and something unreasonably tight and almost painful in its intensity keeps him immobile.<p>

"Dean?"

He turns to see a very slow moving version of his brother loom over him.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

The vice grip that Sam held on him loosens and his brother backs away a few feet. He tilts his head to Sam when his brother extends his arms in some kind of damn placating gesture, like he is some kind of caged animal who is just a second away from tearing his brother's damn head off.

"You okay?"

His eyebrows lift up at that. Of course he's okay. But the look in Sam's eyes gives him the definite impression something ain't right.

He is distracted by moistness on his face. When he wipes away the sweat that seems to have collected there with the sleeve of his shirt, he gags when a smear of blood comes away from his skin. He looks to Sam again and follows his brother's grim eyes as they give him the once over.

This. He has seen this exact same thing before, only he was the one staring at Sam, out of control and covered in demon blood. He backs away from the red and from Sam until he is out and away from the confines of the container to fold in on himself and cower in shame and disgust.

No. No. No. He... he didn't.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	28. Chapter 28

**Another chapter for your perusal! I hope you will enjoy and thanks as always for all your lovely reviews! :)**

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><p>He flinches at the sound of each slow footstep as they creep ever closer and threaten to expose and force him to face what he just did. He rests his head on his knees as he pulls them close to his chest. Instead of helping him sink into oblivion and hide him from his brother's gaze, they only heighten his disgust. He is covered in blood. From head to toe. He breathes in a sharp breath.<p>

Sure, Sam may have had an addiction to this stuff once upon a time but he never saw him lose control like this, not to where his entire body was covered in the filth.

The footsteps stop but he doesn't have the balls to lift his eyes to meet Sam's.

"I'm… I'm sorry S'mmy…"

A sad sigh drifts into him, it ruffles the hair on his head and he knows that Sam is right there, kneeling in front of his 'off his rocker' brother, probably sickened and full of nausea and revulsion at the sight of him.

"Dean, we need to go. You… I have no idea how long we have until…."

He doesn't understand. Just spit it out Sammy.

"…until it gets into your system again. We don't know how you'll react. We need to leave now so I can get you somewhere else…"

Right. He… he… He stops to swallow another round of bile that burns his throat. Shit. He ingested more of it and now Sam is worried he'll flip out again and… and… shit, neither of them really knows what is going to happen the next time.

"Dean? It's alright."

He doesn't say anything, what can he say to make this go away, what can he say to make what just happened alright? All he wants is for the earth to rumble and open up beneath him to suck him down into its belly. But, seeing as that is probably on the list of unrealistic possibilities, he'd be satisfied for being able to stand in a piping hot shower for a damn year to get the tinge of red off of his skin.

He can taste it in his mouth, the distinctive flavour of copper coats his tongue, his throat, even his fricken teeth. He scrapes his tongue along them and shivers at the smoothness, knowing they still bear the signs of his last flight into a demon fest free for all.

He lifts his eyes up, scared and tense at what look he will see solidified on his brother's face, but the expression that meets him holds no anger or rage or fury, only love and understanding and a grim, thin smile.

Sam holds his hand out to him and he feels unworthy of taking anything from the brother who he has now assaulted twice. He shuffles back and contorts his body into the shape an acrobat would be envious of. Not yet. He can't stand up yet.

"C'mon Dean, it's okay. You… you can do this. _We_ can do this."

Sam's features take on a nervous quality then and he thinks he just saw him look at his damn watch. Shit. He is timing it, probably relying on the freak show he got a front seat to earlier to gauge when his next Hulk-out session will be. They need to be as far away from here as they can when the inevitable happens. They need to be out of the area of that bitch and her vile taint.

He slowly reaches to grab his brother's hand and is hauled up firmly yet gently to his feet. He can't help but notice the iron grip he is held in this time, Sam effectively taking away any and all ability for wiggle room. It's obvious, Sam has had enough of this shit and the way his jaw seems to tighten as they walk tells him his brother remembers with clarity how the last binge affected him and is using it as a precedent for the next.

He is met by the crisp and clean air of the night, the effect of the contrast to the stagnant, pungent aroma that seems to have infiltrated his every pore and sense results in making his head swim from the sudden change. He sees the Impala looming ever closer but can't fathom how it got here. He doesn't remember that.

The hell if Sam seems to be able to read his mind in that moment.

"I followed you here in the car Dean, that bitch had it all planned out. She was waiting for me. I'm… I'm sorry…"

Sorry? What the frick does Sam have to be sorry for? Deranged demon human hybrid decides to use him for a damn pincushion experiment and Sam thinks it's his fault? Please.

"Don't… don't be stupid Sammy. Not yer f..fault…"

"Yes it is! She only did this to get even with me!"

"She was... mmmm…."

Whoa. Talk about a sudden slam of awesomeness. He feels like his insides have been lit up, tingling with power and potency. Shit. Not good. Well, truth be told he is actually starting to feel pretty damn fantastic again, but in this particular situation that is a very bad thing.

"Keep talking to me man, she was what?"

"Huh? Oh.. umm… She was crazy Sam. Besides, she's the one laying in a heap in that shithole, not me. So, win-win… right?"

The energy bristles through him then and he can't help but let his eyes drift back to the building they just emerged from.

"Get in the car Dean."

Sam's hands are on him more urgently now, they push him through the opening of the passenger door with an almost eager roughness. Yeah, Sam ain't no dummy, he knows. He is sure that Sam can tell by the way the shivers and shakiness in his voice have started to subside, the way his eyes track towards the building, the way a hum of pleasure resonates in his throat as the feeling of the blood starts to spread along like electricity down the length of his body, that his older brother is on the verge of another high.

"Sam? I feel…"

"I know dude, just try and fight it the best you can. Hang on okay? We'll be at the motel in record time, I promise you that."

He should tell his brother to take it easy with his baby, should lay a glare or two his way when he guns the accelerator to the floor and gravel spews out from behind her in every conceivable direction. But instead, when he opens his mouth all that echoes through the car is another moan.

It's starting again, he is being overtaken by the poison and it seems to strip away layer after layer of who he is and tries to alter him in a way he never thought possible.

Although an unwilling participant he can't help but feel like he is suddenly the luckiest man alive.

"This sucks dude. I'm… it's… man, it's like… it's potent shit Sam."

Sam doesn't answer, doesn't speak at all but his actions blurt out sentence after sentence, loud and clear. The way he keeps trying to slide a discreet eyeball over in his direction, the way he grips the steering wheel so his knuckles turn white makes a knot start to form in his stomach.

He closes his eyes, tries to concentrate on Sam and the car and the frantic pace of his driving but any retorts he may have muttered just seem to mingle and fade into the dust that rises up from behind the car.

He eyes his brother one more time and despises the look plastered on his face.

Sam is worried.

And him? Well, he's feeling pretty damn fine.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	29. Chapter 29

**HAPPY NEW YEAR! Enjoy!**

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><p>He sighs long and deep and tries to keep his urge to jump out of the car just to go and kill something, anything that even looks at him wrong from taking over his ever increasing, one track mind. There has got to be some evil son of a bitch hold up somewhere in this damn town.<p>

He shakes his head. No, that's just the devil juice talking. Frick, this blows.

"Sam? How much further? I don't know how much longer I..."

He leans his head on the coolness of the window and watches the scenery roll by. He clenches his fists and feels the sensation of the dried blood that has crusted over his palm and the digits of his hand scratch and scrape against his nails.

"Soon Dean, we'll be there soon."

Okay, soon is good, but the pervasive pumping of his blood that reaches and echoes in his ears tells him now would be much, much better.

It's a good thing it's dark out and the only illumination is the headlights on the road because it's bad enough that he feels like he's been coated in a delicious candy shell without having to look at his blood-stained appearance. He's still teetering on the edge of sanity and he knows that his eyes taking in layers of the red stuff would be a very bad thing. He thinks maybe he should sit on his hands when he notices he has begun to purposely claw at them just to feel the flakes of substance that still reside and cling to his skin.

He breathes slow and deep, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He needs to quell his quickening pulse and get rid of the evil version of himself that has perched on his shoulder to speak seductively and persuasively about the thrill that this particular web of temptation will bestow upon him if he gives in.

He flinches at his brother's touch on his wrist. Sam. Right. Trust Sam.

He feels pressure on his arm then and lifts his gaze to his brother's. He sees a tempered smile threaten to curl his brother's lips.

"Sam?"

His brother sighs and shakes his head with a rueful smirk.

"Only this once Dean, we'll bend the rules just this once."

He struggles to figure out what the hell is brother is on about when Sam lets go of his arm and holds up two cassette tapes.

"Zeppelin or AC/DC."

Sammy. He wonders where would he be right now if not for his brother. Probably still there, with that bitch, drowning in that pool...

"Pick before I change my mind dude."

Hell if Sam doesn't have perfect timing and knows just what to say to cut through the fog and wanton need that threatens to overtake him. It pains him to think that Sam knows all too well because he has been subjected to it himself and knows what this shit feels like.

"Dean."

He feels a beaming smile light up his face and for a moment he can only think of how much this must be killing his brother. But the smile vanishes as Sam's seemingly selfless act has all the undertones of desperation in order to thwart the demon flights of fancy that he can still feel crawl along his spine.

"Sidekick shuts his cakehole Samantha. _You_ pick."

There is something held in Sam's eyes then. He sees glimmers of hope and fear dance around in that swirl of hazel before they are gone and a timid smile worms its way from his lips to reach the corner of them.

He places one tape in each hand and goes over the top with the illusion that he is weighing each one in his palms.

One hand up.

"Bad…"

The other hand up.

"…or bad. Hmmm, hard choice dude. Guess I'll pick...um... bad."

His brother pops in a tape and the car fills with the soothing chords and magic that is Plant's voice. Sam shudders at it and shakes his head as if it is the worst sound he's ever heard. Drama queen.

"Did good Sam. Bet it hurts like a bitch too."

The faint smile that was on Sam's face retreats suddenly, as if clawed back by things of nightmares and regret.

"You have no idea."

The tone is soft and riddled with a quality of sadness. He figures he isn't talking just about his choice in music anymore. He opens his mouth to speak but Sam cuts him off by reaching for his shoulder and with a gentle squeeze speaks in a low, soothing and mellow voice.

"Close your eyes Dean."

It's said with such purpose and need that he complies without so much as a sigh.

"That's it. Now just concentrate on the music and the rumble of your baby on the road. Oh yeah, and don't forget how lucky you are to have such a great brother who's willing to sacrifice his ears for you."

He snickers at that but keeps his eyes closed and his head leans to say hello to the window again. He tries to let himself get lost in the strum of the music that filters through the car but his breath hitches as he remembers what events brought them here. He... he hurt Sammy. He... he lost control and put his brother in danger. A violent spasm rolls through him and his brother's hand is back, the grip more forceful this time. He hears Sam's voice reach out to him.

"Deep, calming breaths Dean. Everything is fine. _I_ am fine. Just relax and let go."

Sam is fine.

"Breathe Dean. In and out. Slow and deep."

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"That's it, just relax... listen to the music..."

Music. The lyrics and bass leave him floating, the rhythm and tone like a ray of sun that manages to peek through a small break in an unrelenting storm. He feels himself start to get pulled under and as he settles deeper into his seat and relishes the calmness that starts to caress him in its loving embrace, the music starts to fade and his focus shifts. He hones in on the touch. He concentrates on it, the grounding force that has always pulled him back from the ledge to put him back on solid ground, the source of comfort and contact he yearns for and seeks out whenever he feels like he is about to drown.

Sam.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	30. Chapter 30

**Thanks for coming back and I hope as always that you will enjoy this chapter. Wow, 30 chapters and not really close to wrapping this up yet... EEK! I appreciate all of your ongoing encouragement for this story, it definitely makes this writing thing that much more worthwhile. Thank you!**

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><p>He has dreamt of blood before. He has seen himself showered in it, coated by it, nauseated and helpless to stop it. His mind would replay in agonizing slow motion all those who he had been forced to kill or who he had seen die by unnatural means. The brutality and gruesomeness of it has haunted him night after night for as long as he can remember. Always too late, always forced to watch while he stands useless and limp on the sidelines.<p>

And he knows he is dreaming right now. He _has_ to be. He can't feel the blood on his skin. He can't smell the stench of death. He can't look away.

Yet this dream holds none of the emotions all the others have. Something feels different.

He stands with his favourite knife wielded in his hand, the one he tucks under his pillow every night, the one that is only a rustle away from slicing anyone or anything that dares to come for him or for Sam like a coward slithering in the dark. He scans the proximity around his body and sees them there. Body upon body, limb upon limb, indistinguishable and heaped in a pile amongst the blood and the gore. _He_ did that. _He_ hacked and dismembered and killed the evil sons of bitches without even batting a single eyelash. Killing? Yeah, he is damn good at it.

His boots, his jeans, his jacket and his hands are covered in the red stuff. He watches in fascination as one drop of blood dances and bobs precariously from the end of the blade before it finally succumbs to gravity and lets go to splash and meld into the river that is at his feet.

He has never appreciated the beauty of it before. He's never taken the time to look at or notice the patterns that the liquid makes on the ground, on his knife… on _him_.

But he isn't sickened. He isn't disgusted. He isn't pissed off.

_He_ is a killer and _he_ is in his element in this place. He wonders why he never noticed it before, why he would always feel like he had failed in some way when he was witness to such a scene. _This_ is what he has been born to do, what his life was always _meant_ to be. _He_ is the master.

"Dean?"

He sighs at the interruption. Normally he would jolt into wakefulness, his eyes would dart across his surroundings and he would look for evidence that he has been freed from the disturbing images his subconscious had just bombarded him with. Normally he would be desperate for them to fade back into the recesses of his mind, blocked away behind his wall until the next time he shut his eyes.

This time is different.

As the images fade he lets out a whimper and tries to hold on to them, tries to shove them back into his brain.

"Dean?"

He opens his eyes to see he is surrounded by nothing but the concerned face of his brother. No blood. No gore.

Sam looks to him with worry and all it takes is a moment of reflection through those compassionate eyes for events begin to tumble into his mind. He feels a spark of anger come to life like the strike of a match, ignited as those other images dissolve and leave him to face new ones, ones that display in technicolor what he has done to his brother and to himself.

He sighs as the disappointment he knows he shouldn't feel rolls through him. He can't help it. He doesn't want to face the truth. He wants to be able to feel nothing but satisfaction and accomplishment about the job they do and the blood they spill.

As he begins to regain his grip on the here and now, he shrugs out of his brother's grip and lays a glare on him that would make most men back away.

Sam. He took him away from the beauty, the thrill, and the exhilaration he felt in his mind of the hunt, the kill, the victory. Now he has to face the facts. He is infected. He is tainted. He was some demon whore's plaything and now both of them have to face the consequences.

If that bitch wasn't already dead he'd kill her.

He feels Sam's hand come back on his arm again and his brother leans in close.

"We're here. Let's get inside so we can get you comfortable and ride this out. I'll be there every step of the way Dean."

His eyes shift to peer through the windshield and the outside world, complete with the view of yet another crappy, shithole motel. As Sam's words rattle through him he swallows and dreads what is to come. Ride this out.

His mind flashes to Sam's time in the panic room and he swallows in reflex.

Reality hits him hard at that moment and it's the last place he wants to be.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	31. Chapter 31

**Hi and welcome back. Thank you as always for following along, I appreciate it very much and I hope you will enjoy.**

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><p>He stares into his brother's eyes with what he hopes is a look of confidence and irritation rather than with the fear and unease that starts to fill his stomach, his throat, his head and even his skin. Who knows, it may have worked, possibly, if his stupid body didn't pick that exact moment to shake him like he just stuck his finger in a damn electrical outlet.<p>

Maybe Sammy didn't pick up on that.

"I don't think anything's gonna happen Sammy. I'm doing good. Really, I think it's over."

Nope. The look in those puppy dog eyes of his tells him he sounded about as convincing as a bank robber denying the heist while clutching a bag of cash in his hand.

Shit. Not now. He closes his eyes and can feel his body waver for the slightest of moments as a haze of dizziness seems to start at his toes and wiggle its way into his head. It passes fast enough but, although he didn't think it was possible, Sam's expression has gone into some kind of weird, ultra mother-hen-extraordinaire mode. Don't worry so much man. Your face will get stuck like that. Diffuse Sam's concern. Fast.

"I'm cool. It's just.. man, your music therapy? Pure friggen genius bro, I'm still so mellow I feel like I'm floating. Had to close my eyes for a sec just to let the magic of the moment soak in."

"Dean…"

Crap, he's not buying it. Hell, he ain't sure he is either. He's feeling off again. Stall. Delay. Deny. Shrug it off.

"Hey, I know, we should remember that for next time huh? You know me, the accident prone ass who almost always winds up hurt on every single hunt? Better keep those tapes warm bro cuz I wouldn't want you to be deprived of the awesomeness that is my taste in…"

Two hands on him now, and an on the verge of pissed off face that encroaches his personal space. Damn it. Busted.

"You're babbling Dean and we both know what that means. So, why don't we just cut the shit out of the equation and focus on getting inside so we can deal with this in private?"

Not waiting for him to answer, Sam practically throws himself out of the car, grabs their gear out of the truck _and_ manages to start opening his door before he even has his fingers on the handle. He blames it on Sam's frenzied moves when he almost does a face plant into the dirt when he is roughly excavated from his seat.

"Easy Sam. I do remember how to walk you know."

He feels the shakes start up again. He starts to move because if he doesn't his knees are going to cave and he's gonna go down. He takes a few tentative steps and although he feels a light touch on his arm he decides it's best to just leave it alone.

And he… frick, is he starting to pant? And sweat? And feel a burning pit in his gut that starts to rise up his throat like when he's itching for another drink? Yeah, that's it, he just needs a drink and he will be back to his calm, cool and collected self.

He stops suddenly and feels Sam bump into him for his efforts. He might be talking to him but he can't tell for sure, can't concentrate on that when it's not a vision of a cold brew that he sees in his mind to quench his thirst. Make that a nice helping of demon juice. Red. Sweet. Delicious. Satisfying.

"Keep moving Dean."

Sam nudges him softly and his feet find their purchase once again on the ground. His head is starting to throb and his blood rushes to his ears. He groans out of frustration and weakness.

Fricken perfect. Another night in Winchester paradise.

Sam practically drags him into the room and leaves him to stand there in the middle. He wipes a hand across his face and expects to see saliva looking back at him when he gazes at it cuz he's damn sure he just felt his mouth water, but it comes away clean. Well, he supposes that is a relative term. His hand would be clean if not for the staining of red that is gonna be a bitch to get off. Hardened. Dried. Useless now, not fresh or warm or flowing. This is not how blood should be, this is not how blood is supposed to look.

He stands in a daze as he looks to his hands. He barely takes notice of Sam as he whips around the room like the freakin energizer bunny, hands flying to bolt the door and quickly moving to close the yellow stained blinds that adorn the windows. He's like a mini-tornado, landing here and there, only instead of creating chaos he cleans it up. Yup, that's Sammy alright.

He blinks as his brother suddenly appears in front of him and he needs to tilt his head up to look at him. He wonders how he could do all that hurry scurry shit and not even be one little, itty bitty bit out of breath. Either Sam is in even better shape than he thought or he has totally missed something.

Wait.

Yeah sure, Sam is taller than him and all but right now he seems like a fricken giant. He watches with curiosity as Sam bends down, _crouches_ down to meet his gaze.

Shit. Okay. Just when exactly did he sit on the bed?

Sam must notice the drift his mind has taken because he presses his wrists with his hands and seems to bore right into his eyeballs.

"Dean, how you doing man? I've been trying to get your attention for like five minutes."

His eyes crinkle at that. No. They just got here. They just… He looks at Sam and then to the floor. His duffel. It's not where they left it. He leans to look past Sam and notices his brother's bag has also managed some kind of Houdini act. His breath starts to hitch and he twists his body around to look at the front of the room. He tenses when he sees a barrage of items laid up against the door. He doesn't like the feeling that snakes through him at the sight. That can't be a good. Chairs. The table. The… nightstand? That's kind of overkill isn't it? Please, let it be overkill.

"Forgot the kitchen sink Sammy."

He tries to chuckle as he says it but it comes out anything but. His voice sounds strained and rough and raw. Bad feeling? Yeah, it hits him in droves. He definitely has a very, very bad feeling about this. He's still staring at the entourage of items, the ones that are obviously meant to thwart some kind of strung out on demon blood fit his brother seems to think is gonna happen when he practically jumps out of his freakin skin at the contact of Sam's hand on the side of his neck.

"Dean? Relax. It's okay."

Right. Relax. Sure. That should be easy, considering he can't remember anything since they got here. Oh, and yeah, he should doubly relax because it looks like they've rented a room from freakin Fort Knox. No, he doesn't think relaxation is on the menu. In fact, that's about the furthest one he'd pick out of about a million that are floating around in his head. He figures he'll start off with an appetizer of agitation followed by anxiety and to top it off, a main entree of out of his fricken mind!

Shit. What the hell is happening? He shuts his eyes, clenches them closed as he once again has to fight to keep his breathing from lifting off into the damn stratosphere.

The pressure from Sam increases and he feels his head and mind slowly being turned back away from his internal monologue and nervous babbling to peer into his brother's features.

"Hey, don't worry about it, just a couple of precautions. Probably won't even need them but you know me, I've done the research and I always like to have a plan B."

Research. Yeah, he's done research alright. First hand. Christ, he feels like he just got punched in the stomach... again. Sam knows there is no panic room this time so it's a safe bet all those precautions are not precautions at all.

"Have I ever told you that you suck at this lying gig Sam?"

He waits for a response but sees his brother is no longer looking him in the eye. Peachy.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

And there it is, the avoidance of his question shouting out to him like he has a megaphone attached to his ear.

Like they say, actions speak louder than words and sometimes, the most telling answer is the one you don't hear at all.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	32. Chapter 32

**Welcome Back. I hope you enjoy :)**

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><p>He's still trying to wrap his head around his fractured timeline and desperately tries to grab any bits and pieces of the puzzle so he can cram them back into his head when Sam tugs on his arms and pulls him up from the bed.<p>

Jesus, why is it so fricken hot in here? He follows along like a damn dog on a leash, the enormous effort it takes to move forward and the incessant buzz that seems to have started in his ears making it hard to do anything else. Wait. Not a dog, a robot, taking step after step without any true understanding of where the hell he is going.

Oh. Right. The bathroom. He can hear the shower running as Sam opens the door and sees him grab for something that looks like a change of clothes. No. No. Sam is _not_ going to come into the can with him. Is he? C'mon, can't he even take a piss without mother hen and all her cronies coming along for the ride? He digs his heels in to stop at the entrance of the room and looks to his brother, a witty remark just itching to roll off his tongue. Thing is, he can't think of one sarcastic crack to throw at him. Damn it.

He doesn't like the emotions he sees flash across Sam's face. Determination and frustration? Sure, he's been known to evoke those kinds of responses from his brother. But… fear? That causes all kinds of alarm bells to sound off in his head.

"Save it dude. Denial isn't going to work this time Dean. You can't be left alone, sorry.

"I… come on Sammy… it's me, I'm fine."

Wow, that was all kinds of convincing. _Not_.

"It's just a shower for Christ sake!"

Okay, there it is, just like freakin' clockwork. The eye roll and... wait for it… uh-huh, there it is… the patented Sammy Winchester sigh.

He watches his brother's jaw muscles tense and figures he is trying to decide whether to try and reason with him or just wind up and deck him.

Sam instead turns him so they are looking each other square in the face. Those big paws keep him in place and he gets ready for the speech he knows is coming, the one that makes him feel sick.

"Dean. You can't pretend you're alright, not with this. Not with _me_. You've been zoning in and out since we left that place and I know for a fact what you are thinking about when you take those trips. Been in your shoes man, the exact same ones, so I can take a pretty good guess at how you're feeling."

God. He does not want to hear this. He's fine. Just tired. That's all. Nothing more to it than that. He wasn't in there very long, the effects of this whatever the hell it is ain't gonna last. Right? Shit. He can't even remember how long he was there. Double shit. Or, how long Sam was there. She had his brother and he doesn't even know. That's not right. That is fricked up, on so many levels.

"Sam? How long? How long did she have you hold up in there? Did she… hurt…"

Shit. His eyes track towards the knife wound in his brother's shoulder and he sucks in another shaky breath. What else did that bitch do to him while he was her damn puppet? He clenches his fists, the tremors making a triumphant return and he feels a growl start to grow from the base of his throat.

"Take it easy dude. I'm fine, really. Just this once we need to worry about you for a damn minute."

No. He doesn't want to think about himself. He doesn't want to think about what's happened, about her, about the blood, about the wound, about any of it. He doesn't want to be put under a fricken microscope by his brother, the person he should have been protecting throughout this fricked up freakin' freakshow-o-rama. He tries to twist away but it doesn't seem to have the desired effect, it seems like his energy is being syphoned out of him more and more as the seconds tick by.

"Shakes. Sweat. I can feel you trembling under my hands and I can feel the clamminess of your skin. _Withdrawals_ Dean. That is what's happening here, and there isn't anything you can do about it. I hope it doesn't get any worse, believe me, but you need to trust me on this, you do _not_ want to be in the shower if it does."

Withdrawal. As if. You'd think he's been dining on demon blood for months or something. Sammy and his melodramatic streak. He sighs in frustration but also in acceptance. Whatever, let's get this drama over with already, he has one hell of a headache and his knees feel like they are gonna bite it any second.

"C'mon man, you'll feel better once you get that shit off of you."

He takes a moment to look at himself standing there, held in place by his suddenly super-charged in the strength department brother.

Hmm. Possibly a bad move. Blood. Everywhere. It's fricken everywhere. He is sure he just licked his lips and he hates himself for it but it's like his body is on autopilot. He is focused on his pants. His hands. Even his shirts are covered in it. Just like when he was there in that place, knee deep in it, bodies and blood and the… her blood… oozing in a beautiful contrast of scarlet against the paleness of her skin… so damn tasty… so…

"Dean!"

He jolts from the sound of his brother's voice but can't answer while he replays the sights and sounds of it.

Sam pulls him into the room and he stops short as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Huh. It's like he walked right off the set of a slasher flick, but for a reason he can't quite place, this is so much better. Ah, he knows why. Because this blood is _real_. No Hollywood bullshit here, this is pure, 100%, true blood.

He looks down at his hands… again. Always with the hands. He holds one up and watches its shakiness, like that stupid metaphor with damn leaves on a tree. He smirks at that but doesn't know why. He finally notices Sam's reflection behind his own, the one that carries the patented worry, it's creased across every wrinkle and pore of his face.

Hands are at him again and he should feel violated or at least offended as they snake their way onto his shoulders and start to remove the blood-crusted shirts he still wears but he can't take his eyes off the sight that meets his gaze through the glass.

His remaining shirt drops to the ground and he inhales sharply as he gapes at the contrast of his bloodied face and hands in comparison to the starkness of his chest. He takes in the sporadic droplets of red, the here and there smears of blood that somehow found and opening within the fabric to dot and mark his pale skin with their essence.

He turns on the tap and runs his hands under the flow of water. He's mesmerized by the change in colour, as water meets skin and the crusted blood turns to liquid again before his eyes. It turns the clearness of the stream to an achingly beautiful shade of dark pink.

He shakes his head to dispel the bubble of want that courses through him at the sight. He scoops up a handful of water and showers his face in its purity. When he faces himself again he feels a burn deep inside as he follows the pattern of the water, as it drips from his face down his neck, his chest and his stomach before its journey stops and is absorbed into the waistband of his jeans.

He knows he's in some kind of daze, can feel the betrayal of his body as he fights to stay upright. He grabs the counter with each hand and his eyes hone in on his arm. Jesus. It looks like it belongs to a damn junkie. Track marks pocket his skin, they stand out with an ugly and raw stain. He traces their outline with his hand and counts them one by one. Ten? That bitch pumped him full of her taint ten damn times?

Huh. Well, ain't that peachy. Then again, that may help explain where his fixation on blood and the short circuits in his brain have come from. Stupid whore.

He pauses and listens and he is met with the sound of nothingness. The pitter patter of the shower rings through but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in attention at the sudden silence that seems to have encompassed his Mr. Talkative brother.

When he looks into the mirror this time he finally notices only one reflection stare back at him. His own. Damn it.

"Sam?"

No answer.

He doesn't like this. Something is wrong. Sam wouldn't just leave him alone in here, not while he's in full-on nightingale mode. And that means he's in trouble. He could kick himself for not even being with it enough to notice that Sammy disappeared from right under his damn nose.

He turns with the intent to seek out his brother but flinches and takes an unsteady step back instead, as he finds himself looking directly into the face of that evil, conniving bitch.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	33. Chapter 33

**Welcome back. As always, thank you for your continuing support of this tale. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>She takes a step towards him. Her hands reach out slow and tentative until they lightly brush his bare skin. He shivers at the sensation, as his flesh ripples and goosebumps break out at the contact.<p>

Her brow crinkles in what looks to be concern and worry.

"You okay? Dean?"

That doesn't make sense. She doesn't care whether he's okay, she just… Shit, where's Sam?

He keeps his eyes on her face but takes a fleeting glance at the hands that hold his shoulders and keep him in place. He's frozen. Can't move. But his eyes still work so he scans the area behind her, beside her, they roam to the ceiling and even the floor, his mind racing to find some means of escape. He needs to find Sam.

"Dean, you didn't really think it would be that easy did you? I'm a part of you now, my blood is rushing through those veins of yours. You are still mine."

She smiles. Gone is the worry and concern. He sees sweetness, hunger and victory woven into the curl of her lips.

He scans her body but something is missing. Something is off. Blood. There's no blood. But, there was blood everywhere. She was lying in a pool of it. He shakes his head. Right? She's dead. They left her mangled body where…

Her voice pierces through the beat of his heart as it drums away in his head. He closes his eyes and wills her to go away.

"I know you want more. I couldn't just let you suffer now, could I?"

His eyes open and he catches a splash of red on her throat. He hones in on it and swallows in an attempt to dislodge the lump that has suddenly formed in his windpipe. He gets lost in that one thin line of red and a tremor rattles through him as it starts to splinter and crack, as it opens up like the heavens, only instead of rain unleashing itself to the world below it's a torrent of crimson. It slides its way down her throat, soaks into the fabric of her dress and meanders its way slowly until the droplets hang at the base of her clothing, falling and falling and falling until they join together to form a puddle at her feet, taunting him the entire way.

She's coated in blood, from head to foot, bathed in the glory of it. He narrows the gap between them, his gaze fixated on her throat even as his mind screams not to give in to the fire in his gut, the shaking of his hands and the shortness of his breath. He wants to listen, he knows he needs to, but the urge is too strong. He can't fight it. Not when it pumps outward from her neck, pulsating and luring him in with each passing beat of her heart.

"Shit. Listen to my voice Dean. You're okay. This is not real. Whatever you see man, it's not real."

He listens to her words but they seem strange. They sound like something Sam would say.

Sam. Trust Sam. Trust Sam.

He stops short of running his hand across her throat, her drenched dress, her flesh, her form, and instead looks to her in defiance.

"Y…you're NOT real! Sam… SAM!"

She sighs and now it's her turn to shake her head.

"Tsk, tsk… You really do need to change your name. I know, how about I call you Denial Dean? Seems to fit right?"

Sam always calls him on that. Sam.

Her voice lowers and he backs up against the sink, against the one thing that prevents him from shrinking further away from her tantalizingly juicy liquid.

"Sam's not coming Dean. _Sammy_ is dead. Don't you remember? _You_ killed him. Whose blood do you think it is that you are wearing right now?"

What? He spins on his heel to face his reflection and his eyes widen in horror and disbelief. But… he… he didn't. No. His chest, devoid and barren of almost every sign of blood just moments before is now covered in a fresh layer of the stuff.

Her lips brush the lobe of his ear and he shivers. He stares at her through the mirror and closes his eyes when he feels them once again track the scarlet that infiltrates every pore of her skin.

"You did it Dean. For me. For yourself. You're free. He's gone. Thank you for helping me exact my revenge. You have given me the one thing I wanted and I didn't have to lift one little finger."

He voice turns husky, her breath tickles the entrance of his ear.

"How does it feel Dean? Tell me. How does it feel to be the ultimate killer? A perfect killing machine? To know that you killed the one person who you swore to protect? How does it feel?"

She laughs in his ear and he can't breathe.

"Nonononono… I… not Sammy… please, no… I couldn't… it's…"

He stares at his blood ravaged body in the mirror and runs a hand down the expanse of his exposed flesh, the sensation of fluid against his fingers and palm lighting up all kinds of desires that don't make sense.

The blood. It's warm. It's fresh. It's… Sam's?

He gags and can't stop the bile this time as it leaves him to splash against the porcelain of the sink. He coughs and sputters and reaches for the tap but stops when the source of his sickness makes itself known.

Blood. He just spit up blood. Christ. Whose… whose blood is that?

He grips the sides of the sink, his vision fading and his inability to take in an actual breath sending him back into panic country. Blood. Sam's? Her's? His?

He is spun around and almost collapses from the sudden rush of vertigo that encases him from the movement. He… he can't breathe. He starts to go down but strong hands hang on to his wrists. He tries to lash out in frustration and pain and guilt. Please, he just... he needs... please, just... can't he just have one small reprieve? Just this once? He begs for unconsiousness to take him.

But it doesn't. Of course not. He killed his brother. He is gonna go straight back to the fires of Hell.

"Dean?"

He blinks away the tears, the blood, the sweat from his vision and whimpers at the cruelty of that voice as it imitates the quality of his brother's.

He looks at his arms, the grip on them painful and tight and…

"DEAN!"

He snaps his head up, the blaring voice cutting through him and he obeys from the sheer force and volume of it. He does it, exactly the way a killer or a soldier is programmed and trained to do.

The face is blurry. Goes from one to three to two before it slowly merges back to form the features of one face.

He gapes at it. Please. Please, let this be true.

"S…Sam?"

"I'm right here Dean. What did you see?"

Blood. Her's. Sam's. Everywhere. Floor. Hands. Chest. Face. Throat.

"Sh..she… I… wh…where w..w…were you? N..not… I… I didn't… you… you're alive?"

Sam, he looks scared. Worried. Shocked. Saddened. Protective.

"Yeah man, I'm alive and I've been here the whole time Dean. Listen, you're… you're hallucinating. Side effect of the withdrawal dude. She's dead. I'm fine. And you will be too, I promise."

Laughter echoes in his ears. A shadow moves just beyond his vision. The voice floats down from somewhere and slams directly into his head.

"Oh, you're hallucinating alright. Just not the way your subconscious is trying to tell you. See, it's the guilt Dean. Manifests itself in all kinds of ways but you know what you did. You needed the blood, needed your next hit so you ended your little brother's life to get it."

Her laughter. The clickity-clack of heels across the linoleum. Shit.

"S'mmm… she's… she's here… laughing… dead… y..you're dead…."

"Do you feel my hands?"

He looks down at his arms, the ones now held in those gargantuan paws of his brother.

"Y..yeah."

"Okay, that's good. I'm right here Dean and I'm not going anywhere. Remember? I meant it when I said we'd get through this together."

"Wh..what?"

"You are seeing and hearing things that are not real."

He hears Sam clear his throat as his voice begins to crack, the emotions threatening to split his brother in half.

"When I was in the panic room I saw… I saw you… mom… Jess… you and them.. it all seemed so real, they _felt_ so real but they weren't Dean. They… they weren't. What they said, I… I should have known sooner that they, that _you_ would never say those things to me."

The panic room. The screams. The begging for help. The conversations he overheard his brother involved in when he was… crap… when he was all alone in that damn room.

"Sh..shit… S'mmy… s..sorry… didn't realize… wh…what you went through…"

His brother sighs, a mixture of pain yet annoyance laced in the sound.

"You did what you had to do and I don't... I don't know if I ever thanked you for that. You saved me."

He feels Sam pull him towards the shower as he talks, knows he is distracting him from putting up a fight but he has no energy left, not when the images and sounds of Sam's suffering play out in his head.

"This is different Dean, what is happening to you. I knew, well, I thought I knew what I was doing. I _chose_ to do it…"

Sam tugs on the top of his jeans.

"Can you do this yourself?"

He undoes his pants and manages to step out of the denim as he grips his brother's forearm for balance.

"I thought I could be strong enough to… doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is that none of this is your fault. I'm just doing what you did for me. What you have _always_ done."

He's not sure he's ever really heard Sam talk about it like this before. Then again, he didn't want to know and he didn't want to listen. It scared the shit out of him, that demon blood fetish that changed the brother he knew into a stranger. Shit. He remembers the way her taint made _him_ feel and he can't deny it, he wanted to take more and more. If it wasn't for Sam, it would have consumed him.

"Dean?"

"Y..yeah Sam, I.. I get it… Tough love… t..totally sucks though… dude.."

The chuckle that he hears is like music to his ears.

"I know man but it'll be over soon. I'll be here."

He steps into the spray of the shower and relishes the instant relaxation it evokes from his aching limbs. He braces his hands on the wall and leans his head into the stream. He looks to Sam then and sees a tentative smile on his face. He sends his brother as confident of a smirk as he can muster. Sam, he's still there.

"Th..thanks S'mmy… shower... feels great…and, thanks for letting me... keep my shorts on..."

"Well, that was more for me man, didn't want to have to gouge my eyeballs out."

"Bitch..."

He hears clapping followed by a hand on his arm.

His gaze drifts to the pressure on his limb and sucks in a breath when he sees it is being held by a dainty and manicured hand. He looks into her face once again.

"Great performance, I must admit. Your walnut is a hard one to crack, it's not quite ready to accept your true reality yet. That's okay, I've got all the time in the world."

He doesn't acknowledge her, doesn't cave to it but instead shuts his eyes and focuses on the water again. Tries to concentrate on the feel of it, the relief of its coolness as it patters on his overheated skin.

"Ignoring it won't make it go away, won't make it any less true. Sam. Is. Dead."

"This isn't real… this isn't real… you aren't real… Sam is real… Sam is alive… Sam is here…"

Another round of laughter.

He isn't sure how long he stands there but he feels a smile come through when he can't hear her anymore, when he can't feel the touch of her skin on his. He breathes out slow. He made it. It's done.

His skin bristles, his smile erased in an instant as the texture of the water seems to change. Its consistency is different. Its _smell_ is different. No.

He opens his eyes and feels the room spin and his body start to lose its fight with gravity as he scrambles to reach the taps. He tells himself it's not real but his eyes tell him different. Blood. It sputters from the showerhead to drip down and reach his skin, his eyes, his mouth.

He loses his footing, the slickness that coats the tub turning it into a damn skating rink. He hears laughter again. Not real. Christ, this cannot be real. He tries to grip something, anything but his hands just slide through the film of red.

He feels sick. Shit. No. He's gonna pass out. He hears a moan make its way out of his mouth as he fights to keep upright, his body consumed by spasms so strong his fists pound into the wall of their own accord, like he's been hit with a thousand volts.

The shower curtain moves and the face of his brother comes into view just as his body finally gives out and he starts to plummet towards the floor, the strings that had held him up having just been severed at the source.

He thinks he hears his name but it is drowned out by the echo of a loud crack.

The pain that lances across his head, accompanied by white spots and fuzziness throughout his vision tells him that noise came from the impact of his skull against the porcelain material of the tub. Peachy.

Blackness encroaches and he mentally reaches out to it, longing for some respite from this horror show. He shuts his eyes, the agony in his head making it impossible to keep them open. He drifts along the cusp of consciousness but feels a surge of panic as the last sound he hears on his way under is laughter.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	34. Chapter 34

**Welcome back, sorry for the delay, many a block this week courtesy of real life. Sigh. Um, just a heads up, this is kind of a dull chapter compared to previous ones but it is also a lead up to the next, hopefully much more riveting one ;) **

**I hope to be much quicker with the next update. As always, I appreciate all of you who have continued to stay with me on this journey.**

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><p><em>"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?"<em>

His body spasms as he is all too soon brought back from the relatively peaceful darkness and thrust into the pulsating light, the one that strums a brilliant chord of agony under his closed lids.

Pain. That's the only thing he knows as he flits his way back into semi-consciousness. Why he feels like he lost a battle with a damn semi escapes his miniscule brain power, plus he figures if he tries to actually think, that would be the last straw and his head would explode. Then again, maybe it already has.

And why is he fricken freezing his nads off? He moans softly as his body shudders against the onslaught that makes him feel like he's been dunked in a bucket of ice, naked.

"That's it bro, you're okay. Just gotta check you out quick, then you can rest, alright?"

He groans at the intrusion and grimaces as his efforts serve to rocket another flash of white hot pain to stab through his already throbbing skull. Jesus, turn down the damn volume Sammy.

"Dean? C'mon man."

He just wants Sam to go away and leave him alone. It's ass backwards is what it is. He wants him to wake up just so he can let him go back to sleep? Is that the kind of logic you learn in college?

"St..stop yellin'. M'good.. f..five m'minutes tired…"

He tries to move his head, aching to bury it away from the blaring bells and whistles of his brother's voice into the fabric of the pillow and end the relentless glare that only seems to intensify as he lays there. His head just kind of rolls on its own accord, straight into the cold, hard surface of... um...

"Where'm I?"

He hears laughter then. It sounds familiar and it's not the nice kind of laughter either, more like the evil, I'm enjoying the pain your in kind. It wriggles around at the periphery, just out of reach to figure out exactly why it's there in the first place. It's volume is ever increasing, filling him with a sudden feeling of dread.

"Who's 'ere?"

"It's me Dean. Sam."

"Ah, aren't you the cutest little thing when you're concussed."

Who the frick is the bitch rattling around in his head? Concussed? Well, ain't that peachy. He scrambles through images in his head but comes up with a big fat helping of nothing, zilch, and zero. It's a hollow shell, his skull, and provides not one damn clue to explain what led him here.

"Sam's gone Dean"

"Sh..shuddup..."

"But me? I'm not going anywhere."

No. Sam's… he… he heard him. He was right there, his voice in his ear. Right?

"Dean? Let's get you out of the tub. Cracked your head pretty good."

The giggle subsides slightly as he hones in on his brother's words.

Right. Concussed. Okay, yeah, that would explain the voice in his head.

Wait. The tub? What the hell is he... and why does Sam sound worried? Oh right, dumbass, probably cuz he hit his damn head again... on... shit, he's nowhere near lucid enough to figure that one out yet. But okay, why would Sam be _in_ the bathroom with him while he's in the tub? That is just wrong on so many levels.

He shivers again. Damn, he feels like a friggin icicle. Cold. Empty. Thirsty.

Something is draped over his now quivering form. It's all he can do to put one plus one together to come up with the word towel. Damn it, what the hell?

Is that a hand on his face?

"Time to get up."

Yeah, it's a hand alright. He should send some kind of death glare his brother's way, maybe, but as hard as he tries he can't move and his eyeballs have decided to go on strike. Plus, it stands to reason that opening his peepers would be a very bad idea. So, it's settled then. Not gonna move. Not gonna as much as twitch one damn muscle.

He kinda zones out for a minute he thinks. It's weird really, he can't tell whether he's alive or dead, conscious or sleeping. His rambling cuts off as he is indeed moved but not under his own steam. Okay then, that's settled, definitely still alive. Cut it out Sam, that shit hurts.

"Leave.. me... here..."

"Not gonna happen man."

His skull is pounding by the time the shift in his body tells him he's now standing upright. The bass line keeps an irregular tempo and it makes him feel nauseous. He stumbles awkwardly and juts an arm out to grab his brother, or the wall, or fricken anything to stop their advance into the other room. Sickness crawls along the length of his throat and either he actually managed to say something or he's turned an unhealthy shade of green cuz all he hears is an intake of breath from Sam and the feel of his brother's hands quickly leaning his against the surface of what he assumes is the sink.

He coughs up nothing but liquid and the heaving leaves him even more weakened that he was two damn seconds ago. God, he hates this shit.

Sam keeps a hand on his back, doing that girly circle motion thing he always does when he's trying to keep himself and his older brother calm. He should tell him to stop but he has a strange feeling that it is the only thing that's keeping him in the here and now. Huh, that's a weird thought.

"Done?"

Just a minute Sam. Just need one more minute.

"Done?"

His brother's voice seems urgent now, strained. Like he's had one hell of a night and just wants to get him out of the confined space their in and get his concussed ass into bed. That sounds pretty freaking fantastic actually but he can't quite move yet, his stomach is still riding along on some kind of out of control rollercoaster.

"Dean?"

His voice is thick with worry. Okay already, jeez.

Alright, time for him to suck it up and play his big brother role. Time to put Sam's mind at ease. He breathes in, deep and slow and cautiously opens his eyes, and looks straight into the mirror.

Big. Mistake.

It's a blur, what happens next. He can feel the impact of his hand against the glass, it's shards raining down on him as he tries to erase the images of blood and gore, and more blood... and the skanky bitch that stares at him through the reflection. He cringes as her laughter makes a triumphant return to ring louder and louder through his head.

His arms are grabbed and held behind him but he is in fight or flight mode, his head thrusts back and he smirks when it connects with something solid. The arms release him but his victory is shortlived as a new crescendo of pain envelops his already aching skull. He struggles and gasps for air. He can feel and see the approach of a figure from his current vantage point of being bent over with his hands on his knees. Hell, whatever, he'll still go out swinging.

He lands a few good punches before his brain registers the fact that his hand is cut to ribbons and his equilibrium is shot to hell from the effects of a concussion and blood loss. By the time he regains his focus long enough to straighten up and face his foe head on, it's just in time to see the flash of a fist and feel the connection is makes to his chest. Shit. That hurt like a bitch. Winded, with his body suddenly too heavy to fight the pull of gravity, his legs fold and he is placed gently on the floor, his back against the wall.

He fights feebly as hands worm their way around his frame and he's lifted from his sunken position.

"I've got you Dean."

Sam?

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	35. Chapter 35

_Hello there. Thanks for coming back. This is a short chapter I'm afraid but I hope you will still enjoy. Thank you all, so much, for all of your continued support. I truly, truly appreciate it. _

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><p>There's pressure on his hand and he tries to pull it away, the throb of pain threatening to make him regurgitate the contents of his stomach.<p>

God, he feels like something the cat dragged in and then decided to chew on for hours.

He moans as another flare in his arm ignites and seems to awaken the nerve endings of every other part of his body, the damn thing starts to vibrate in sheer agony and pervasive waves of pain. He thinks maybe he should open his eyes but, even closed, the light that cuts through his eyeballs makes him feel like he is staring directly into the fricken sun.

It's like he's trapped in that stupid barrel thing at the funhouse. Upended and then dropped. Upended and then dropped, until every single muscle and piece of flesh sports an ugly bruise.

He's been beaten up before, sure, but for the life of him he can't remember ever feeling like this particular brand of shit.

His throat is dry. He is so damn thirsty. He tries to lick his lips but it has been freed of all moisture, like he's been left out in the freakin' desert until all his fluids have leaked out of every pore of his skin.

He flinches slightly as a palm is placed on his forehead but instantly relaxes at its touch, the familiar feel of it telling him it belongs to Sam.

"It's okay Dean. Listen, you hurt your hand and cracked your head pretty good so just relax and try not to move. You're probably confused but trust me, everything is good. So no 'I'm fine' bullshit alright? And before you ask dude, I'm okay. But you need to rest, you've had one hell of a night."

He doesn't remember cracking his head on anything. He tries to figure out through his muddled mind what their last hunt was. It frustrates him that all that seems to be between his ears is empty space. Ghost? Spirit? Did his head get up close and personal with a damn gravestone again? It hurts to think so he moves on from contemplations of his head wound to his hand. Can't figure that one out either. He huffs out a breath, his agitation at his lack of memory clearly heard through that gust of air as if he spoke his feelings out loud.

"Be careful, we don't need you to hurt yourself with all that thinking I can tell you are doing. I promise, I'll explain everything when you're coherent enough to understand it. Time to rest Dean."

As if on cue he yawns, followed closing by his brother. He wants to open his eyes, make sure Sam is okay but he doesn't think he has the energy to move one little finger let alone the overwhelming strength he'll need to expose his eyes to the outside world. No, he'll just stay here. Sam sounds okay, maybe a little tired but not suffering from some kind of fatal wound or some shit.

He feels what he figures is a bandage being wrapped around his damaged hand and hears his brother's drifting voice filter in through the ever increasing fog.

"Okay, all done. I've got ya covered dude. Go back to sleep."

Sleep. Yeah, that sounds like the best idea his brother's ever had. He hums in the back of his throat, not quite able to formulate a word. He feels his brother's hand on his forehead once more before he slowly drifts off to the drone of Sam's voice and his body's cue that it needs to rest.

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><p>"Time for your medicine big boy."<p>

His eyes fly open and he sees her approach, syringe in hand and sinister smile on her face.

No. This is not happening, this is not happening.

He scans the room and can see Sam over at the table, from the looks of it out cold, the glow from his laptop illuminating his haggard face. He panics at the thought that this bitch got to his brother and he's gonna have to go through another round of shit to get her filthy taint out of his system. Just like he...

He hears his heartbeat thrum in his chest.

He blinks and she's right there, blood at the ready. He looks to his body and grins when he sees he is no longer bound. Okay hag, not tying him down is possibly the worst mistake you've ever made in your fricked up life.

He jumps up, taking out her legs with one of his own and she descends roughly to the carpet. Wait, carpet? Motel room? Shit doesn't make any sense.

The commotion seems to have done nothing to garner his sleeping brother's attention and a wave of dread overtakes him at the thought that Sammy is hurt.

"SAM! Wake up! Don't… you need to get out of here!"

He breathes out in relief and smirks as his brother jolts up from his position, drags a hand down his face and tracks his gaze over to where he stands. Good.

Okay, now to take care of bitch-McBitcherton.

He turns to finish her off, to slit her damn throat with the knife in his hand. He looks at the blade but can't remember picking it up. Ah hell, whatever, adrenaline can be a tricky thing.

He grips the weapon tightly only for it to drop from his grasp when he realizes the skank is gone, disappeared into thin air. That can't be good.

He looks back to Sam who is approaching quickly and shrinks back against the wall as his face looms close to his.

His eyes. No. They can't be. God Sammy, no.

His eyes. Blackened by blood and strength and power.

"S..sammy?"

"You knew this would happen son. I told you what to do. I _warned_ you but you didn't listen. You let your brother down. You let _me_ down."

He gulps as he turns to the owner of the other voice in the room.

"Dad?"

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><p><em>TBC...Thanks as always for stopping by.<em>


	36. Chapter 36

**Hi there and welcome back. Thanks as always for your continuing support. I hope you will enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>He feels dizzy. Sick.<p>

He looks away, shuts his eyes to try and shield them from the things he knows can't be true.

"Dad's dead.. he's dead.. can't be here.. not here.. he's dead.."

He whispers the words over and over again, thinking that if he voices them out loud the image of his father will be gone.

"He's here Dean. And so am I."

He opens his eyes and gazes into a sight that makes his skin crawl. Sam. Demonized. Blackened by evil and taint because he had taken a trip down under and left his brother to fend on his own.

His gaze shifts behind this twisted form of his brother to the other figure in the room. His father still hovers there, seething with a look of such hatred that it cuts through the air and slams directly into his eldest son. He uses Sam as a shield to block out and escape the raw rage that spews out from their father, the palpable anger making his whole body seem to vibrate under his feet.

His brother's lips curl into a creepy smile and he simply moves to the side to give his father complete access in order to stare accusingly at the son who cowers across from him.

He can't help but look to his brother, to his Sammy for support or comfort, or anything, as he faces the storm that is John Winchester. He feels his eyes well with tears when his gaze is met only by eyes as black as night. There is a sting of guilt and confusion and gut wrenching anguish as he is forced to face his father's wrath on his own.

This is wrong. Sam didn't go demon. He _knows_ he didn't.

His father's low drawl brings him from the view of Sam's distorted features to the other Winchester.

"You're right Dean. I'm dead. Nothing but a burnt up piece of charcoal. I have _you_ to thank for that. Huh. And for what? What a damn waste!"

He gulps and something snaps inside him at that; the memories of what his father did to save him taking away any logic, reason or sense he had left; the sight of the two people who mean the most to him, turned into distorted versions of themselves, quickly causing the last thread of sanity to unravel and leave him undone.

His dad _is_ there and he's pissed.

Sam is there and he has turned into the one thing he promised each of them he would never let happen.

He has failed them both.

"I'm… I'm sorry dad… I… but… this…"

Wait. No. Sam wouldn't let it go this far. And _he _wouldn't have let it happen. Not to his brother. Not to his Sammy.

"this is wrong… something is wrong… Sammy's okay… Sam is still Sam… he fought and won… not evil… just Sam…"

In a flash his father is there; he stands toe to toe and nose to nose with him, his eyes burn with the fires of Hell itself; the flames trapped and flickering inside.

"Does your brother _look_ like he's okay? _You_ did that to him."

"No."

He sweats. He shakes. He mumbles and teeters. He tries desperately to escape whatever this is.

"You killed me Dean."

As if to emphasize the point he watches in horror as his father is engulfed in a ball of fire, his own hair and skin singeing from the heat. His dad reaches out to him even as flesh burns away from his bones and falls like dripping wax onto the floor.

He backs away as his hands fly up to cover his ears in an attempt to cover up the sizzle of his father's flesh. He clenches his eyes shut to shield himself from the gruesome vision of his father, as his features are eaten up by the raging inferno.

His attempt to get away, to back up out of the nightmare is stopped by hands on his shoulders. Sam. He is holding him there, keeping him still while the stench and sounds of Hell close in all around him.

"S'mmy... please..."

He tries to get away, tries to wriggle out of the iron grip he's encased in but only succeeds in making the pressure become painfully strong. He chances a fleeting glance behind him and cannot stop the tears from coming at the smile that his brother wears.

Sam. He is going to let him burn.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

He takes in a deep, shuddering breath and flinches at the cool sensation that slides against his skin. It takes the burn of the fire away and he can't help but melt into its touch.

Wait. He's lying down again but that isn't... No, this is just another trick... another game...

"No! Dad! Don't! Please! SAM!"

He tries to raise himself up but is met by a stubborn hand on his chest. His eyes flutter open to see the image of his brother, facecloth in hand and eyes full of unshed tears. He tilts his head and tries to clear his blurred vision.

Eyes. Hazel eyes. Not black. Not demonic.

"S'mmy?"

He sees his brother nod and look to the area behind him. God. What's he looking at? Dad... his dad must still be here...

"What? Wh…where's dad? Still here? Where... don't... please, don't let him... it's... he's..."

Sam's eyes crinkle in confusion and then worry as he leans close and gazes into his brother's eyes.

"Dad's not here Dean."

"you… your eyes… they were... they... black... you okay Sammy?"

Shit. He can't formulate one coherent thought and he sees a flash of sympathy cross Sam's face as he eases him gently back against the mattress. How did he get here? He just... he saw... He swallows as he tries to make sense of it, the whole time trying to ignore the agony that pierces through his vision so he can keep his focus squarely on his brother. Or, more accurately, on his eyes.

He gets the feeling he just imagined this whole crapfest but can't help but stare, terrified those eyes will change and once again be devoid of all colour; all humanity.

God, his entire body aches.

"Shhhhh, you're alright Dean. Dad isn't here. And I'm still me. It's just the concussion dude."

Right. Concussion. He can't ever remember a knock to the head that has brought to the surface every fear and smidgen of regret and guilt from deep within to manifest itself right in front of him.

No, there is something else. He can feel it in his head; in the thump of his heart and the look that he keeps seeing flash across Sam's face. He knows something, and it must be bad.

"What? Sam?"

"You've been pretty out of it. I can't even imagine what you've been seeing but I know it was bad. Your brain is jumbled up, it's messing with you, that's all. It's just us. Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

He sighs and closes his eyes. It was so real... he thought… he was sure his dad was standing right there, looking at him with disgust and annoyance that he sacrificed himself for his useless son. He could smell it. Feel it. Hear it.

He shakes his head. There is no way he's gonna let himself fall asleep and go through that again. He opens his eyes wide and searches his brother's face.

His head throbs and his body feels weighted down, the adrenaline of his 'episode' draining him to the point of utter exhaustion. The more he fights to keep his eyes open, the more his head tries its best to split in half, the addition of cymbals to the bass drum that beats in his head an unwanted addition to the party. Hell, soon he'll have an entire marching band whacking the sides of his skull. Fricken perfect.

He moans as another dagger cuts into his brain.

"Hang on, be right back."

His eyes drift closed as soon as Sam stands up, his head unrelenting in its constant assault.

He hears his brother rummage around somewhere before the dip in the bed tells him he's back.

"Here man, take these."

He squints up at his brother, searching for any sign of the evilness that just moments ago clouded his eyes.

"Dean. Relax man, it's just me. I promise. The real me."

He wants to protest as his brother curls his hand around the back of his neck to lift his head up enough to take the pills and some water to wash them down. He is sure he moans as the cool liquid coats his aching throat. Damn it, since when is it Sam's responsibility to look after _him_?

"You'll feel better soon."

"Are… are you okay S'mmy? Not… not a demon? No… no more blood?"

"Close your eyes and rest Dean. I'm still your brother. I'm still Sammy."

He drifts away again and hopes that when he opens his eyes the next time he'll be able to figure this shit out.

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><p><strong>TBC... Not long to go now, maybe a few more chapters... I can see a light at the end of this tunnel. Thanks for sticking with me! ;)<strong>


	37. Chapter 37

**Hi there and thanks for coming back. Thank you for your lovely comments. Thank you for taking time out of your life to read. Thank you for giving this story your attention. So, in a nutshell... THANK YOU! I hope as always you will enjoy. For those who I have been tardy on reviews with, I promise to get to each and every one of them soon! :D**

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><p>He hears a voice. It's there, just on the outside of his consciousness, familiar and comforting yet with a presence of worry laced within it.<p>

He concentrates on it, zeroes in on it until the murmurs start to take shape.

_ "Yeah, I know Bobby but, I couldn't. There wasn't time, we... we never would have made it to your place."_

Sam. He sounds exhausted. Must have been one hell of a hunt if he can't seem to remember or pinpoint one detail about it. What happened? Why would Bobby think they should head there?

He keeps still and silent where he lays, the cushion on his back telling him he's on a bed. He probably should let Sam know he's awake, but it ain't too often he gets to be a fly on the wall plus maybe it'll help fill in some of the gaps in his swiss cheese brain. After all, he doesn't want to seem like a total idiot.

_"It was pretty bad. Yeah… cracked his head..."_

Oh, okay, that shouldn't surprise him. That would also explain the lapse in memory and the various musical instruments practicing inside his skull, making his session of eavesdropping that much more difficult.

_"...his hand is split open."_

Hand that is attempting to kill him with pain? Yup. Check.

_"Me? Well…"_

All discomfort seems to fly out of his body then, his focus and concentration shifts itself entirely from his own shitfest onto his brother's voice instead. He waits and listens intently for what that answer to that question will be.

His heart aches at the thought. He should have noticed it, that the waver he heard in his brother's voice has more than just tiredness weaved into it. Damn it. He was so focused on his own confusion and pain that he didn't sense it in his brother right away. What the hell is wrong with him? That just ain't right, he can _always_ tell when Sammy is hurt.

It pisses him off, the fact he can't remember what happened to his brother, and the knowledge it means he didn't lift one damn finger to stop it. Some brother he is.

_ "Nothing much. Stabbed in the shoulder, head butted in the face, wasn't hard enough to break any bones. Really Bobby, I'm okay, just a couple cuts and bruises. What's important is that she's dead. I got off pretty easy considering what he's been through."_

Um, excuse me? Stabbed? You call that nothing much bro? Wait. She?

Bloody carcass on the floor. Pools of red. Cage. Sam. Blood. Demon. Shit.

_"Doing better. I'm hoping the worst is over. I think it is. He's been pretty out of it for the past few hours and the shakes seem to be settling down. That blood really did a number on him Bobby. But I knew he was still in there, that he would eventually realize what she was and... just thankful there was still enough of his patented stubborn streak in him or… I don't know…."_

Shakes? He swallows roughly. Right. Demon blood. He… he craved it… he…

He breathes out a gust of air through his nose, the image of him crawling around in the stuff and aching to taste it making him dizzy.

_"Yeah, scary as all hell though. He… he thought I was her… man, it's amazing you know, even when the dude's barely conscious he packs one hell of a punch."_

What? On no… no nononono… he didn't… he couldn't have.

Damn it, he did. He was the one who hurt him. He hurt Sam.

_"Kind of had to get a little rough with him to get him out of the bathroom after he smashed the mirror. God Bobby, I'm sure he saw the bitch looking at him through it. He passed out for a bit after that."_

Demon whore. Blood. Thirst. Hunger. Staring eyes boring into his through that damn mirror.

_"then he woke up screaming my name… was talking about dad like he could see him Bobby… "_

Dad. His flesh burning because of him. Failed him as a son, as a man. And... failed Sam.

_"Hell Bobby, he… he thought my eyes were black. You should have seen his face, like it was his fault what happened with Ruby and that shit."_

It was. He never should have left his brother alone. He should have… he should have found another way.

_"And, I can only imagine what the hallucination was doing to him… I remember mine, you know, ummm, during the withdrawal? Definitely not a fun time. Yeah, knowing Dean his version of dad was busy telling him everything was his fault."_

Withdrawal. Christ, he's a demon blood junkie. _Him_.

_"He's still asleep."_

Sam cuts off with a yawn and all he wants to do is pipe up and tell him to get his freakishly huge body into bed and rest. This isn't right. Sam isn't supposed to have to deal with this shit.

He should have been stronger. He should have been able to fight this.

_"Yeah, I know, you're right. I will. Don't worry, I'll be fine. What? No, he won't do anything. Yeah, I've taken precautions. I've got him secured, but I don't like it."_

Secured?

_"I know but… no, I won't until I'm sure but… I just… I don't want him to wake up like that, it'll just freak him out. Call me in a couple hours okay, once I lay down I'll be out and I don't want him to wake up alone. Sure. Thanks Bobby."_

He doesn't want him to wake up like what exactly?

He tugs on his hands. Then his feet. Nothing moves. He can't budge, at all. Shit. What else did he do that has made his brother tie him down to the bed like he's some crazed, evil son of a bitch? He swallows. Maybe he doesn't want to know.

Damn it if Sam isn't right. Because he can't move and yeah, that has made him definitely breach the perimeter and head straight into freaked the hell out territory.

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><p><strong>TBC... Next time... let the comfort begin! :D<strong>


	38. Chapter 38

**Hello everyone! Thanks soooo much for coming back. Thank you for all the lovely, wonderful comments and reviews. Thanks for taking time out of your life to read this story. The response to this has been so very overwhelming that I am speechless. Thank you, each of you, for making it a pleasure to write and such a rewarding experience.**

**I had thought this would be the last chapter but I wanted to put the ask out to you lovely folks. So, let it stand as it is or have one more chapter? Your opinions do matter immensely so feel free to send me any thoughts/ideas you have on the subject.**

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><p>Pure and raw panic.<p>

Sam is forgotten as his mind veers off into survival instinct mode.

The need to get free.

The need to get away.

Before she comes back.

Before she turns him into…

Before he starts to ache for it in his bones again…

…before he craves the taste of it in his mouth, the feel of it on his skin.

His eyes drift to his arm. His pock marked, junkie-fied arm. Angry red marks from the injection sights meet his blurring gaze.

Blood. Damn, fricken, evil _demon_ blood. It surged through his veins.

Maybe it still does.

A memory pours into his brain before he can filter it. A callous smile. A syringe. Warmth and euphoria as the devil juice entered his veins and he let out a groan of contentment.

No. Not him. Not this. Anything but this. No more. Please, stop.

He pulls and tugs and thrashes as far as his body will allow.

Tied down. That's bad. That's how it started.

Immobile.

Weak.

Unable to fight. Unable to move.

Surrounded by a fog of what he knows he should reject but that he won't be strong enough to fend off once he gets a taste.

A shadowy figure approaches and he clenches his eyes shut, tears of desperation and genuine fear escaping from under his lids.

He shakes at the touch on his arm. He groans and fights and struggles and…

"Dean? Relax."

Sam? No, he can't be here. She'll get to him and… with his… he'll…

He opens his eyes but keeps his gaze away from his brother's face. The shame he feels for what he allowed himself to do and how he let himself lose control makes his heart thump wildly in his chest.

He grounds out the words through clenched teeth.

"Get away Sam! You can't be here… get away before she comes back! She… she stuck me with… and if she sees you… she's… you're the one she wants… don't let her… you need to leave! NOW!"

Sam doesn't leave but increases the slight pressure on his arm. The big oaf never listens.

"Sammy… please…"

"It's over now, she's dead. Remember? Just look around Dean. We are _both_ safe. At the motel. We got away. Dean, we got away. Remember? She's dead, she can't hurt you anymore."

Another flash of memory, her lifeless body stretched out floating in a sea of her own blood, her dead stare boring right into him.

Yeah, okay. Right, bitch is dead. Dead.

"Do you hear me Dean? She isn't coming back."

He takes in the surroundings then, the room adorned in some damn awful flowery wallpaper.

Motel. Right.

"Dean, you with me?"

He hears Sam but if she's gone why is he still tied up here, like a pincushion just waiting for the next needle to….

His eyes flicker to his bound appendages and he can hear Sam sigh. It's a weary, almost defeated sound.

"Sorry man, I had to, didn't have a choice, you were so out of it and… you were seeing things… Shit, I didn't want you to wake up like this but… this was the only way I could make sure you'd be safe."

His eyes finally focus on his younger brother and it becomes painfully obvious as he scans his appearance. He takes it all in. The bloodied nose. The cut lip. The patch job on his shoulder. The tired and beaten up vibes that ooze out from him tell him in spades what Sam would never say in words.

He lies there, tied up, because that was also the only way for Sam to keep _himself_ safe. From his own brother.

He feels nauseous and can't stand to keep his eyes on his brother's face. He squeezes them shut once more and tries to hide away in the pillow, tries to sink down so deep into the material that it may just swallow him whole. God, he hopes it does.

His heart is heavy and tight with remorse and guilt and shame and regret. He hurt him. He hurt Sam.

"M'sorry… S'mmm… sorry… I hurt you… I… I'm sorry…"

Sam's hands are suddenly there, on the sides of his face, and he sucks in a shallow breath, his emotions teetering right on the edge of his control in response to the gentle touch he feels but knows he doesn't deserve.

And yet, somehow, he can't stop himself from sighing slightly at the comfort he feels in his brother's hands. They speak a silent language full of trust, love, and understanding.

"There is nothing to be sorry for Dean. None of this was your fault. Please bro, just look at me okay?"

Sam's soothing voice coaxes him out of the darkness to peer into those eyes, the ones full of compassion and love.

"See? I'm fine. I'm okay. You on the other hand look like shit, and I bet you feel that way too. Look, I'm going to untie you okay? But… just, you need to lie still for a bit alright? You've been through a lot and you need to give your body time to heal…"

Sam starts to untie one of his wrists and a myriad of emotions surge through him. Relief, that he will soon have his freedom and no longer be confined. Fear, that he will do something else to hurt his brother. And that idea? Well, when Sammy's health is involved, it trumps his own needs hands down.

"Wait…"

Sam stops what he is doing and looks to him, his eyebrow raised in question.

"No… don't. What if… don't wanna hurt… "

"You won't hurt me Dean. Besides, I'm pretty sure I could take you right now. Jerk."

Sam lets out a small chuckle and the sound warms his heart. That one little word tells him his little brother is okay.

Jerk. Bitch. Just two little words, but they hold so much meaning and have for so long. They are like their secret code; their way of checking in on each other, to let each other know that even with all the shit they've been through they are still okay, still alive and kicking inside.

But right now, for the life of him, as much as he wants to, he can't make the sound, he can't bring himself to utter that one little word that he knows Sam is waiting to hear.

He can't do it because as the fog starts to lift more and more, as fragments from his time as a demon's plaything come into his head fast and furious, the last thing he feels is okay. And he sure as hell ain't fine. Not even close. Not this time.

And he doesn't have the strength left in him to even make an effort to hide it.

"I heard you Sam."

"What?"

Something gives way. A weakness that he fought so hard to never show bubbles up. The emotions of it rise up through him and his breath hitches, unable to keep out the staggered memories that weave their poison through his mind.

The knowledge of what he became, of what he craved, of what he desired cracking his wall and leaving him defenseless.

"Heard you, talking to Bobby."

"Dean…"

"God Sammy… I messed up. I don't… I can't… I can see myself, see what I did… all I wanted… I needed to have it, like I wasn't even in control of one piece of myself. She won. That fricken bitch won and I… I wanted it so bad Sammy… "

He's dizzy. He feels hot and sick and disgusted and ashamed and guilty and… He can't breathe. He's suffocating in the whirlwind of emotions that he's churned up around them.

Sam moves in closer.

"Dean? Listen to my voice."

"and I… I saw Dad… he was burning… because of me… flesh falling of his bones… he… and you… my fault… it's just…"

Too dizzy. Can't breathe. Too much. Can't…

"Dean! Listen to me. Look at me. Please."

"…should have been stronger… should have fought… but… wanted… the taste… the rush… the way… it…"

"Dean! LOOK AT ME!"

He stops...

Do it… for Sammy… the least he can do is… listen to Sam for once… after all he's done…

He lifts his gaze and tries… but Sammy… he's blurry… fading… can't breathe… can't… but… Sam is there… with him… still there… listen to him…

"Good. Now, you need to take a deep breath for me okay? I need for you to calm down. Can you do that for me?"

Can't. Can't get enough air. No. Can't. He shakes his head and gets slammed with another wave of dizziness.

His left wrist is quickly untied and he watches through his ever increasing haze as Sam places it on his chest and holds it there.

"Yes, you _can_ Dean. Just follow me. Now, breathe."

He feels the sensation of his hand rise with the intake of air his brother takes.

"Deep breath in."

Okay. In.

"Now let the air out slowly."

Out. His hand falls back with Sam's chest.

"That's it. Another. In. And out. You're doing great. Keep going."

He blinks as his vision starts to clear, as his breathing evens out and he finds a rhythm of his own, his hand still being held firmly against his brother's chest.

"Okay, that's good. Just concentrate on your breathing and relax. I've got you and I won't let go."

His eyes start to droop as he focuses on the rise and fall of his brother's breathing, as he matches his own in tandem. In and out. In and out. He gets lost in it, the warmth of his brother's hand on his, the life he feels enter and exit Sam's body. He's alive and he's there. Sam's okay.

It's calming. Peaceful.

His eyes go wide as he jerks himself back into wakefulness.

"It's okay dude, you can close your eyes. You can sleep."

His eyes lower and the sound of his brother's words slowly start to fade as he feels the pull of sleep descend on him.

Maybe he is gonna be fine after all.

A small smirk graces his lips.

"Only if you're sure. Bitch."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC?... Thanks as always for stopping by.<strong>


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